Faith, Hope and Charity
by Mare43
Summary: When Trey is released early from prison, the Cohen's welcome him as part of their family. But they soon regret their kindness when Trey's past catches up to him and he quickly falls back to his old ways, placing Ryan in grave danger. This story is the conclusion to "A Deal With the Devil" and "To Be Seventeen".
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

Also, I'm not following what happened on the show; for example, Ryan is not dating Marissa (I'm just not comfortable writing her character and I don't think I do a very good job when I do write her,) and the "Thanksgiving visit" with Trey never happened.

As with Kirsten, I'm probably not writing Trey the way he was portrayed on the show. I also don't know much about his background so I'll be creating my own take on the "Atwood brothers" and their past. To be honest, I really didn't watch much of the show, so I hope you'll grant me a little creative freedom as I write my own Ryan/Trey scenario. :-)

 **A quick note to those loyal reviewers from my last story :** Even though there's a small jump in time with this story, it doesn't mean the issues Ryan faced in "A Deal With the Devil" will be swept under the rug. My sole reason for starting this third part was because I didn't want the previous story to become repetitive (an ever so incessant fear of mine) and I just felt it was time to freshen things up a bit and send Ryan on another "angst-filled adventure". ;-)

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

And as always, I appreciate the feedback and reviews. It helps me continue writing. :-)

Prologue

Ryan sits impatiently in the car and glances down at his watch.

 _Eleven thirteen,_ Ryan thinks to himself as he looks back up and peers at the small, dark house, then gazes up at the full moon. _My curfew is midnight... I don't want Sandy and Kirsten to worry..._

Ryan pulls his jacket collar up over the back of his neck, trying to ward off the chill from the unseasonably cool, early March night. He runs his hand over the soft leather of his sleeve, recalling when Kirsten gave him the jacket on Christmas morning. _She bought me so many things,_ Ryan thinks to himself, remembering how strange it felt to be showered with gifts. _They all did..._

Ryan again looks at the house; a typical, small rambler with overgrown shrubs and patchy lawn due to years of drought and neglect. With the help of a dim, flickering streetlight, he notices the peeling paint and boarded up front window and concludes he is not in the "good" part of town.

 _What on earth could he be doing in there?_

Ryan digs his hand in his jacket pocket and searches for his cell phone. He lets out a plaintive sigh as his hand comes up empty, realizing he's still not used to carrying a phone. _I must have left it in my bedroom... so much for calling Sandy to let him know I may be late..._

Ryan continues to sit impatiently as he places his right arm through the open, passenger-side window and strums his fingers on the outside of the car. It's been a little over six months since his father abducted him; a terrifying experience that has left an indelible scar on both his mind and body... a constant reminder of his torment. And although he has made great strides with trying to overcome the ordeal, it hasn't been easy. Still suffering from horrific nightmares followed by long bouts of insomnia, he continues to see Dr. Evans at least once a week. _I can talk to him about anything and it stays between us,_ Ryan thinks to himself, remembering the psychologist's promise of doctor-patient privilege. _Dr. Evans has kept his word. He's a man of integrity... like Sandy._

Ryan glances back down at his watch and sees it's now eleven sixteen.

 _What in the world could be taking him so long?_

Ryan gets out of the car and slowly makes his way towards the small, dilapidated house. He immediately tucks his fists inside his jacket pockets and scrunches his shoulders upwards as he adamantly tries to ward off the chilly, March breeze.

Ryan steps up to the front door and raises his fist to knock. He immediately takes a step back as the unlatched door slowly creaks open. Peeking his head inside, he tentatively whispers, "Hey... are you in here?"

Ryan steps into the unlit foyer and quickly decides to leave the front door open. Using the moonlight to guide him, Ryan slowly makes his may through a small sitting area and into the kitchen.

Stepping into the kitchen, Ryan's senses are immediately assaulted by the smell of day-old food and second-hand smoke. Feeling around on the wall with his hand, Ryan locates the lightswitch and flicks it on. He glances down at the half-eaten take-out pepperoni pizza, still oozing grease onto its cardboard serving tray with cans of beer scattered upon the table and ashtrays piled high with cigarette butts. Ryan suddenly jumps as he spies a small rodent... a gray mouse, skittering across the stained, unswept linoleum floor.

 _It's just a mouse..._

Ryan immediately turns his attention to the muffled voices he hears coming from down the hall. He begins to slowly walk towards the sound and sees a thin ray of light emanating through the open crack in the door. "Come on, man... I really gotta get home," Ryan pleads, the frustration etched in his voice. "I don't want to get grounded..."

"Make any sudden move and I'll slit your throat."

Ryan freezes in his tracks as he feels the sharp, ice-cold blade of a knife dig into the front of his neck. He feels his heart pounding out of his chest as the large, ominous figure stands closely behind him; the stench of the man's acrid breath causing his stomach to churn.

"Now walk."

Ryan swallows the bile rising in his throat as fear and anxiety course through his body. He does as he's told and walks into the small room; the room where the voices were coming from.

"Look at what I found lurkin' around the house..."

Trey's head darts up in surprise, then a grimace quickly forms upon his face as he angrily throws a wad of money down on the bed in frustration.

"Dammit Ry... I told you to wait in the car!"


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **In response to the readers who expressed so much disappointment with the jump in time: please give me a chance! My biggest complaint with the show's writing was not so much the jumps in time but how often storylines, as well as characters, were just ceremoniously dropped. I'm not doing this here. I'm retaining the major characters and** **I'm in no way abandoning Ryan and what he has endured. What he has experienced in my last two stories will play a part in this story. I hope you'll stay with me. :-)**

 **And as always, thank you for the feedback and reviews. I appreciate it!**

Chapter One

 **One day earlier:**

"Can you answer the question, Ryan?"

Dr. Gabriel Evans sits in his high back leather chair with his legs crossed, holding a notepad and pen upon his lap. He thoughtfully runs his left hand over his salt and pepper beard and straightens his round, wire-rimmed glasses over the bridge of his nose as he studies the boy sitting across from him on the couch; a boy who's been through more horrific ordeals than any kid he has ever counseled.

"Ryan, can you tell me how you feel about your mother and uncle moving to Atlanta?"

Ryan sits quietly on the small, leather sofa; his head lowered slightly as he runs his hands over the smooth surface.

"Torn."

Dr. Evans waits a few moments in silence, knowing he needs to allow the boy time to gather his thoughts. He quickly recalls the first time he met the quiet teenager just a little over six months ago. It was a warm, late August morning. Ryan had just recovered from pneumonia and his mother had hit rock bottom with her drinking and emotional abuse. The boy spoke only a handful of words but his heavy, distrusting eyes and closed-off demeanor immediately captured the therapist's attention.

"Why do you feel 'torn'?" Gabriel asks, observing how the boy now sits comfortably on the couch; his arms no longer crossed firmly around his body in the effort to protect himself; his eyes no longer wary and etched deep with suspicion.

"It's so far... I understand why they had to move, but..."

"It was for your uncle, correct?"

"Yeah, since the beat... since my uncle was hurt, he suffers from chronic neck and back pain and headaches. He still uses a cane..." Ryan feels a wave of sadness come over him as he thinks about his Uncle Lenny. "My mom found this rehabilitation center that specializes in helping people manage chronic pain. They specialize in 'hol' something..."

"Holistic medicine?"

"Yeah, they use a holistic, medical approach and alternative therapies to help people manage chronic pain. When a spot opened up at the clinic in Atlanta a month ago and my uncle was accepted into their program, they decided it was worth giving it a try... so they moved."

"It sounds to me like this is good news," Gabriel states, trying to coax the boy to concentrate on the "positive". "I'm getting a sense you're not comfortable with your mother leaving."

"I guess..." Ryan lets out a sigh as he finds himself coming to terms with his feelings regarding his mother. "I guess it's because my mom has been doing so well."

"How so, Ryan? Tell me how your mother has been doing."

"She finished rehab a couple of months ago and she's been sober for almost six months. She's been going to AA meetings and Sandy and I have been seeing her once a week," Ryan states, looking up at his therapist as he realizes how far his mother has come. "We usually take her out to dinner... my uncle joins us when he's feeling well enough."

"Did Mr. Cohen drop the restraining order against your mother?"

"No, but he changed it slightly," Ryan replies, thankful Sandy has shown so much compassion for his mother. "He still won't allow me to be alone with her... she has to remain sober for a year and prove to him she's taken responsibility for herself... so he takes me to see her and my uncle once a week." Ryan glances over at the closed office door and thinks about the man sitting just beyond it in the waiting room. "Sandy's done so much for me and my mom..."

"It sounds to me that your mother has not only taken responsibility for herself, but also for her brother."

Ryan feels a small smile form upon his face. "Yeah... she is helping my uncle. In fact, they've become very close... I'm thankful for that." Ryan suddenly feels a wave of relief after having talked openly about his mother and uncle. "Before she left, my mom gave me this," Ryan says as he pulls a small object out of his jacket pocket and shows it to his therapist.

"What's this?"

"It's a salt dough ornament," Ryan explains, looking down at the handmade green Christmas tree his mother made for him. Ryan runs his finger over the red glitter that spells out the word "Mom" and smiles. "She was unable to give it to me at Christmas due to her being in rehab, but she told me how she had all her 'group therapy' buddies join her in making the ornaments for family and friends," Ryan says with a sense of pride as he places the cherished keepsake back in his jacket pocket. "Sandy is planning a trip for us to Atlanta over Spring break to visit them." Ryan looks up at Dr. Evans and offers a small smile of contentment. "It'll just be Sandy and me..."

"Kirsten and Seth won't be joining you?" Gabriel asks somewhat perplexed, wanting to gain a complete understanding of the family dynamics.

"Kirsten has refused to have anything to do with my mom and Seth has plans for some 'comic book thing' over Spring break," Ryan explains, somewhat relieved as he finds himself looking forward to a trip to Atlanta with just Sandy.

Dr. Evans smiles, detecting an air of contentment surround the boy. "I think a special trip with just you and Sandy to visit your mother and uncle is a wonderful idea."

Ryan glances up at his therapist and offers a small smile, then finds himself suddenly become groggy and unable to stifle a yawn.

"Ryan, are you still having trouble sleeping at night? This has been going on for a couple of weeks now."

"Just sometimes," Ryan replies, trying to downplay his fatigue.

"Just sometimes?" Gabriel reiterates, deciding to call the boy on his bluff. "I thought I told you to tell Sandy and Kirsten you've been having difficulty sleeping."

"I know but... this just isn't a good time, Dr. Evans. They have enough to deal with..."

"Ryan, you come first," Gabriel states firmly, trying to reinforce the importance of communicating to his guardians when it comes to his physical and emotional needs. "I know Dr. Morrison prescribed you something to help you sleep..."

"I haven't needed it," Ryan mumbles as he lowers his head and rubs his tired eyes, not appreciating the direction their conversation has taken.

Dr. Evans immediately jots down _'intrusive memories PTSD'_ in his notepad, knowing that symptoms of the stress disorder usually begin to occur three to six months after a traumatic event, although in some cases, symptoms may not appear until years later. "It's imperative to your therapy treatment that you share what is going on with the Cohen's. What could possibly be more important..."

"Mr. Nichol's trial starts next week," Ryan interrupts, suddenly becoming defensive. Ryan abruptly gets up off the couch and stands in front of the window, peering down at the street below. "He's been accused of conspiracy to commit murder and is facing life without parole..."

Dr. Evans notices the boy immediately tense up and fold his arms in front of his body, alerting the therapist he has hit upon an unsettling topic of discussion.

"Sandy tries to shield us... from the reporters, but..."

Dr. Evans remains silent, knowing exactly what the boy is alluding to; months and months of stalling along with filing one frivolous legal motion after another, then stretching out the process of jury selection for over three weeks until the judge finally wielded his gavel proclaiming "enough is enough!". Caleb Nichol's top-notch defense team have definitely earned their exorbitantly high attorneys' fees, but now, after six long months, he will finally face trial.

 _I hope that wretched man ends up broke and in prison,_ Gabriel thinks to himself.

"It's been plastered all over the news... the kids at school treat Seth like some sort of pariah..." Ryan turns away from the window and looks directly at the therapist. "I don't even want to know what they think about me..."

Dr. Evans winces slightly as he listens to the boy's sharp words, detecting a hint of sadness underneath the biting tone in his voice.

"I'm worried about Kirsten... I know what it's like to have a father in prison," Ryan states, looking back down as he runs his finger along the freshly dusted windowsill. "It's hard... even when they deserve it."

Dr. Evans listens intently as he notes the frustration of the boy's words and the sadness in his voice. He wonders if part of his frustration and sadness is due to Caleb Nichol, thus far, being able to dodge all responsibility in connection with the boy's kidnapping and dealings with the late, Frank Atwood.

"Ryan, I know this is difficult..."

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," Ryan interrupts, shutting down the subject as he glances over at the clock and sees the hour is almost up.

"Very well, perhaps we can talk about it more next Thursday," Gabriel proposes, knowing the boy is quickly reaching his limit and he still wants to ask him one more question. "Tell me, Ryan... how is Trey doing?"

"Trey?" Ryan repeats as he returns to the couch and sits back down, happy to get off of the subject of "Caleb Nichol". "He's doing really good... he's got his own place, a small apartment in Chino, and he's been working... painting houses, small maintenance... stuff like that."

"I thought Trey was serving a two year sentence?" Gabriel asks, wanting to find out everything he can about the older brother.

"He was, but he was released a month ago... given early parole, or something," Ryan explains to his therapist. "According to Sandy, Trey's PD filed a complaint against the officers who arrested us."

"What happened?"

"After we were arrested, I was immediately taken over to juvie," Ryan explains, remembering that night like it was yesterday. "They brought Trey to the police station and started asking him questions about the car theft. Trey's lawyer got a subpoena for the tape and it confirmed that Trey lawyered up immediately, but they continued interrogating him for six more hours before the PD ever showed up."

"Sounds like your brother's rights were violated..."

"Yeah, I guess Trey didn't say anything about it back then because he probably figured they caught him red-handed trying to steal the car, so what was the point?" Ryan reasons.

"Is your brother going to press charges?"

"No," Ryan replies, laughing softly to himself at the notion. "Since they granted Trey early parole, well... I think he's just really happy to be out," Ryan replies, realizing this is the first time in almost ten years he doesn't have a family member behind bars. "Seth and I are going out with him tomorrow night to shoot some pool at the Corral. Wanda will be working... said she'd give us free nachos."

"Well, it sounds like you're happy your brother is doing well," Gabriel notes as he observes the boy more relaxed now that the subject has been changed.

"I am," Ryan admits, hoping that his brother can turn his life around the way their mother has. "He's planning on going to night school this summer to earn his GED. If he can do that and stay out of trouble, Sandy is going to help pay his tuition to the local technical college in the fall. Trey wants to become a mechanic like his friend, Eddie." Ryan glances up at Dr. Evans and offers a small smile. "Working on cars will be a lot better than stealing them."

Dr. Evans smiles at the boy's remark, happy that at least some things in his life are looking up.

* * *

Sandy sits patiently in the waiting room for Ryan and sees he has a few more minutes before the session ends. He takes out his cell phone and decides to give his office colleague, Special Investigator Sam Jennings, a quick call.

"Hey, Sam... Sandy Cohen here," Sandy states as he stands up and begins to pace around the waiting room. "Have you been able to find anything out?"

 _"Not yet, Sandy. Trey's PD is claiming attorney-client privledge and the police... hell, they're not saying anything."_

"Well, it's probably nothing," Sandy sighs, wondering if he's making too much over the unlawful interrogation of a nineteen-year-old car thief.

 _"I don't blame you for being overprotective of Ryan... the kid's been through hell."_

"I know, but Ryan is so hopeful his brother will turn his life around... the kid feels that if his mother can do it, why not Trey?" Sandy says, understanding the boy's optimism.

 _"Have you heard anything more on the adoption?"_

"Well, after having every aspect of our lives scrutinized under a microscope, it looks like we've finally gotten the green light. We should hear something in a couple of weeks."

 _"That's great news, Sandy..."_

"Yeah, it's definitely something we're all looking forward to."

 _"I won't keep you, but before you go, I wanted to ask you... Do you know Trey's Public Defender, Dirk Kramer? He seems like a real 'stick in the mud'."_

"Sadly yes," Sandy replies with a heavy sigh. "My fellow PD's and I usually refer to him as 'Dirk the jerk'."

 _"Well, I do agree with you, Sandy... it does seem a bit strange. Why question Trey after he lawyered up? They had him dead to rights on the car theft..."_

"I know..." Sandy says as he hears voices loom closer on the other side of the office door.

 _"I'll keep digging..."_

"Thanks, Sam... I gotta go," Sandy says, quickly ending his call when Dr. Evans and Ryan emerge from the office.

"I'll see you next Thursday, Ryan," Gabriel states as he acknowledges Sandy with a nod and a smile.

Sandy smiles back at the psychologist and places his hand gently upon the boy's shoulder. "Ready to go home, kid?" Sandy asks, knowing that after these sessions with Dr. Evans, the boy is usually very quiet; exhausted from the therapy.

"Yeah... sounds good," Ryan replies as he walks out of the waiting room and down the hall to the elevators.

Sandy walks briskly to keep up with the teenager and jumps into the elevator car before the doors close. "How did your session go today?" Sandy asks as he presses the button for the main level of the office building.

"It went fine."

As the elevator door closes, Sandy shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair, knowing that's probably as candid of a response he'll receive from the boy.

Silence fills the small space as Sandy and Ryan wait for the elevator car to descend three floors. Sandy glances over at the solemn-looking boy, knowing not to ask too many questions. _The kid just spent the past hour listening to nothing but questions,_ Sandy tells himself.

Ryan quickly steps out of the elevator when the doors finally open and walks out into the parking lot with Sandy.

"Kirsten wants us to pick something up for dinner," Sandy says as he gets into his car and buckles his seat belt. "Do you have a preference?"

"Whatever you want to get is fine," Ryan replies, buckling his own seatbelt as he tries adamantly to stifle a yawn. Ryan stares out the passenger side window as Sandy pulls out of the parking lot to join the late Thursday afternoon, rush hour traffic.

Sandy again shakes his head as he wonders how many times, since he first met the boy, has Ryan said the word "fine".

"Sandy... I um..."

"Yes?" Sandy asks, his interest piqued. "What is it, Ryan?"

Ryan rubs the bridge of his nose, then moves his hand down to his mouth to stave off yet another yawn. "I... um... I've been having a little trouble sleeping at night the past couple of weeks, but I don't want you to worry..."

"Trouble sleeping?" Sandy interrupts with deep concern.

"It's not every night, Sandy... just sometimes..."

"Just sometimes?" Sandy asks, suddenly slamming his foot on the brake as the rush hour traffic comes to a complete standstill.

"Yeah... sometimes..." Ryan says with a heavy sigh, hoping he's not burdening the man too much with his problems.

Sandy peers over at the worried-looking boy and studies him intently. He remembers Dr. Evans telling him and Kirsten to keep an eye out for any symptoms of post traumatic stress, pointing out that even though the boy has been doing well, symptoms can begin to appear months later.

"Ryan, you need to tell me," Sandy pleads with encouraging eyes and a gentle tone of voice.

"Sometimes if I hear a noise... or I smell something... _o_ _r sometimes when I imagine I've seen something,_ Ryan shudders, electing to keep that last part to himself. "I don't know... it's hard to explain..."

"Have you discussed this with Dr. Evans?" Sandy asks, wanting to make sure the psychologist is aware of the boy's inability to get a good night's rest.

"Yeah... he knows..."

"Well, I still have those prescriptions Dr. Morrison wrote for you. I know the sleep aid is good for a year... why don't we stop at the pharmacy and get it filled."

Ryan stares down at his lap and bites his lower lip, remembering Dr. Evan's words from their session as he contemplates Sandy's offer.

"Ryan, it's worth a try... Dr. Morrison would not have prescribed something for you if she didn't think it would help."

"Okay..."

Sandy glances over at Ryan and places his hand upon the boy's forearm. "Okay..." Sandy reiterates as the traffic begins to start moving again. "We'll get the prescription filled, then we'll swing by Wong's and order some take-out."

* * *

Trey sits on a faded, plaid couch he picked up at a garage sale and enjoys a beer and cigarette, exhausted from working a twelve hour day. He picks up the remote and begins channel surfing, not quite ready to turn in for the night.

 _At least I'm gettin' work in Irvine and Newport,_ Trey thinks to himself as he takes a long drag from his cigarette and settles on some old black and white horror movie. _Paintin' rich people's houses pays a helluva lot more than the small ramblers here in Chino._

Trey finishes off his beer and smiles, finding himself looking forward to shooting some pool at the Corral with his brother tomorrow evening. _I'm gonna make you proud, Ry..._ Trey thinks to himself as he tamps out his cigarette and gets up to fetch another beer. _"You'll see... I'm gonna do this... Hell, if mom can get her shit together, so can I._

Trey's thoughts are suddenly interrupted when he hears his phone ring. _Who the hell is callin' me at this time of night,_ Trey thinks to himself as he looks at the clock and sees it's almost midnight.

"This is Trey..."

 _"Ha sido un rato, mi amigo..."_

Trey suddenly feels an unsettling chill run up his spine when he hears the ominous-sounding voice, with a heavy Spanish accent, on the other end of the line.

"Ramon... yeah uh... it has been awhile," Trey stutters, trying his best to sound nonchalant. "Say, how did you get this number?"

 _"I'm not in the mood for small talk, Atwood... Quiero mi dinero."_

"And you'll get your money... I just need a little time..."

 _"You're out of time... I want my two grand now!"_

"But I don't got two grand!" Trey states in frustration. "I gotta a job, Ramon... you'll get your money."

 _"Damn right... I want my two grand by tomorrow, midnight. That's twenty-four hours, in case you've suddenly forgot how to tell time."_

"I kept my mouth shut, Ramon... I didn't rat you out. That's gotta count for somethin'."

 _"You kept your mouth shut because you didn't want a shiv rammed into your gut while serving time in the slammer."_

Trey lets out a heavy sigh, knowing there's no use arguing with the nefarious drug dealer.

 _"Let me make myself perfectly clear... you've got twenty-four hours. If I don't get my money by midnight Friday, you will be sorry you ever did business with me. Entiendes?"_

Trey remains silent, listening to the man's threat as he runs his hand over his tired face.

 _"If I don't get my money, people are gonna get hurt... starting with you, amigo. Let's see... maybe I'll begin with slicing off a few of your fingers before moving on to rip..."_

"All right, all right... you'll get your fuckin' money!" Trey interrupts in defeat, knowing his back is against the wall.

 _"Muy bien, mi amigo... I'm happy we're in agreement. Bring the money to the 'house'... and Trey..."_

"Yeah, Ramon?"

 _"Don't be late..."_

* * *

Sandy lays in bed with his eyes wide open, unable to fall asleep. He glances over at Kirsten and lets out a sigh of relief. _Well, at least you were able to finally fall asleep,_ Sandy thinks to himself, knowing his wife has had her share of restless nights. _You've got enough on your mind... I don't want you worrying about Ryan._

Sandy gives up on the prospect of falling asleep and makes his way to the bathroom to grab his robe, wondering if the sleep aid he gave Ryan helped the boy fall asleep. He quietly tiptoes out of the bedroom, taking care not to disturb his wife and makes his way up the stairs.

Sandy peeks his head into Seth's bedroom and sees the teenager wrapped up snuggly in blankets, sleeping soundly. "Sleep tight, son," Sandy whispers as he quietly closes the door, then makes his way towards Ryan's bedroom.

Sandy peeks his head into Ryan's room and suddenly feels a waft of cool air upon his face. "It's suppose to get down in the low fifties tonight" Sandy whispers as he immediately walks over to the open window and carefully shuts it, taking care to be as quiet as possible. Sandy notices the small reading lamp attached to the head of the bed softly illuminating the surroundings. He walks closer to the bed and sees Ryan sound asleep, holding an open book upon his chest. _This is the last of my Tom Clancy novels,_ Sandy thinks to himself as a smile forms upon his face. _You've read them all._

Sandy carefully nudges the book out of Ryan's hands and places it on the nightstand. _Seth was never interested in reading political spy thrillers,_ Sandy acknowledges to himself as he places the bookmark between the pages where the boy had stopped reading. _They're great stories, aren't they, kid..._

Sandy finds himself standing over the bed, just watching the boy sleep, wondering if he's having any dreams.

"What do you dream about?" Sandy asks in a hushed voice, wishing the boy would open up more instead of keeping everything locked up inside.

Sandy turns the reading lamp down to the lowest setting, deciding it would be best not to turn the light completely off.

"I know what you're thinking... you don't want to burden me with whatever you may be going through," Sandy whispers softly, finding some solace the boy is, at least, confiding in his therapist. "It's just so easy with Seth... I know when he's happy or sad, angry, scared, sick or in pain... but you..." Sandy lets out a plaintive sigh as he finally begins to feel the fatigue set in.

 _You'll keep on trying to weather the storm all by yourself,_ Sandy thinks to himself as he gently pulls the blanket up over the boy's shoulders to keep him warm.

"But, you don't have to anymore. I told you... I promised you... we would get through this together... as a family," Sandy whispers softly as he makes his way to the door. "You're a part of this family."

 _And soon, you'll be my son..._


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **A little feedback on some of the reviews I received:**

 **Regarding Trey's age** **: I thought he was three years older than Ryan. My goof! I can certainly change his age to 20 if it's bugging folks. ;-) Also, I don't know much about Trey's background, which is why I'm writing my own scenario. So whatever Trey did on the show or supposedly did in his past won't have much bearing on this story. I seem to remember Trey using drugs, so this is what I am incorporating into my story.**

 **In regards to Dawn** **: In my last story, she made the commitment, not only to herself but to Sandy, to complete rehab, so I'm a bit surprised some readers felt her change came suddenly. Also, I chose (for my story) to evolve this character. With everything I have put Ryan through, having his mother achieve sobriety and help his uncle is something the kid can smile about and be proud of. Because I didn't want Dawn to face the possibility of relapse (for the sheer fact that I'll be putting her son through hell again) I decided to move her and Lenny far away so I would not have to involve them in my story anymore... hopefully. ;-)**

 **Please keep in mind my story is** **AU** **. It becomes difficult to keep writing when the story I'm trying to create keeps getting compared to what happened on the show. I'm doing my best to create my own unique story and I truly want to complete this trilogy.**

 **I've also included some individual responses at the end of this chapter.**

 **And as always, I appreciate the feedback and reviews. :-)**

Chapter Two

"I don't know, Sandy... maybe the boys shouldn't go out tonight."

"Honey, we've already been over this. Seth and Ryan need to get out and have some fun. All those kids do is come home everyday after school and sit around the house, just like they're doing now," Sandy states, slightly exasperated, having heard both boys go out to the patio after dropping their bookbags in the foyer. "They've been looking forward to this evening all week."

"I know, but going to a bar... with Trey?" Kirsten inquires worriedly as she looks out the kitchen window and sees both boys sitting in lounge chairs next to the pool, chatting.

"They're not going with Trey, sweetheart. They're meeting him at the Corral. Seth will be driving and they understand their curfew is midnight. Besides, Wanda's going to be there. The boys just want to play some pool and eat nachos."

Sandy places his hand upon his wife's arm to coax her into making eye contact. "Plus, they'll be someplace where the people won't be staring at them and whispering behind their backs."

"I know... you're right," Kirsten acknowledges, realizing both boys have been avoiding after-school activities and social functions in Newport due to her father's notorious, upcoming trial. "But maybe we should stay home tonight and not go to the fundraiser."

"The fundraiser is important, sweetheart. You need to take this opportunity to make contacts and round up more clients for your consulting firm," Sandy points out, understanding the importance of social engagements, even though he tends to loathe them. "Plus, it's for a very worthy cause."

"But, my heart just isn't into it..."

"Honey, we're going to the fundraiser," Sandy orders as he begins making his way towards the foyer when he hears the doorbell ring. "You're going to schmooze, I'm going to eat things I can't pronounce and the boys are going out to have some fun!"

Sandy opens the front door, praying it's not Julie Cooper feigning friendship so to pry into their personal affairs.

"Detective O'Brien, good afternoon... what brings you out this way?" Sandy asks, stepping aside to let the man enter.

"I need to speak with you and your wife," Jack states solemnly with his slight Irish brogue, dreading the conversation he needs to have with the couple. "In private."

Sandy stops suddenly and studies the haggard-looking detective; his brown suit creased from long hours of sitting at a desk; his five-o'clock shadow not having seen a razor in days; his tired, green eyes bloodshot from not enough sleep.

"Of course, we can use my office," Sandy offers as he immediately goes to fetch his wife.

Jack O' Brien stands in the middle of the warmly decorated office and smiles briefly, noticing a host of Tom Clancy novels nestled alongside an array of law books. He glances down at his cell phone and runs his hands through his dark, brown hair and sighs.

 _Come on, Kat..._ Jack thinks to himself, checking for a text message. _Give me an update, lass..._

* * *

Trey tosses three aspirin into his mouth and washes them down with a glass of water. He groans as he thinks about his dilemma; how to pay back the money he owes Ramon.

 _Why did I ever buy so much coke,_ Trey thinks to himself as he picks up his phone and contemplates who he can call to ask for a favor.

Trey paces around his apartment, thinking about what his life was like before he was arrested for stealing that car. He was with Martie, a young woman in her early twenties who always liked to have a good time. She would drink, smoke, shoot up... anything to "escape" reality.

 _Escaping reality can be a good thing..._

Trey stares down at his phone and runs his hand through his light, brown hair. "Who can I call..."

 _There's no way Eddie's gonna be able to help me,_ Trey thinks to himself, knowing his best friend is saving up every penny he earns to buy his girlfriend, Theresa Diaz, an engagement ring and put some money down on a house. _Maybe Theresa's brother... he's always willing to help._

Trey quickly calls his friend as he paces around the small living room, feeling a little more hopeful.

"Arturo, hey... it's me, Trey."

 _"Hey, Trey... Eddie told me you were out. Where have you been, man?"_

"Around... mostly workin'."

 _"So, you're staying out of trouble?"_

"Trying to... uh... which is why I'm calling," Trey says with a touch of hesitation in his voice. "Arturo... I need to borrow two grand. I'm in deep shit, man... ya gotta help me!"

 _"Two grand? How the hell... que ha pasado? What happened?"_

"It's a long story," Trey replies curtly, not wanting to get into any details. "Can you help me out? Come on, you know I'll pay ya back... "

 _"Trey, you know I would help you out if I could. But my mother was laid off from work a couple of months ago. Theresa had to drop out of school and get a job. We're both working to pay the bills. We're already three months behind on the mortgage... my mom may lose the house."_

"Sorry to hear about Eva gettin' laid off," Trey says, silently cursing his bad luck.

 _"What about that family your brother is living with? I hear they have money. Maybe you could ask them for help..."_

"No, I don't want to get them involved... I'll figure somethin' out."

 _"Sorry, man... I wish I could've been more help..."_

"Yeah, I know," Trey sighs dejectedly. "Thanks anyways, Arturo."

Trey ends his call and puts down his phone, then violently rams his fist into the front closet door, breaking through the cheap, thin wood.

"Dammit!" Trey cries out as he tries to shake off the pain. "All right, think. Where can I get two grand by midnight..." Trey tells himself as he again starts pacing around his small apartment.

Trey suddenly stops pacing when he gets an idea. _Wanda... there's no way she'll give me the money outright, but maybe..._

Trey quickly picks his phone back up and calls his best friend.

"Hey, Eddie... got any plans tonight?" Trey asks, hoping his friend is free.

 _"No, Theresa is working... some catering job for a fundraiser in Newport."_

"How do you feel about going to the Corral tonight to shoot a little pool."

 _"Sounds great! Sure beats sitting at home watching TV all by myself..."_

"Alright, then... I'll see ya later."

Trey makes his way to the bedroom to grab a change of clothes, looking forward to taking a hot shower to clear his head.

"Now to take care of my other problem," Trey says to no one in particular as he looks through his meager assortment of clothes, hoping to find something clean. "How to keep Seth Cohen from joining me and Ry tonight..."

Trey sits down on the unmade bed and begins taking off his shoes and socks.

 _There's no way in hell I'm gonna spend the evening listening to that nonstop chatterbox monopolize the entire night and take away what precious little time Sandy Cohen allows me to have with my brother,_ Trey groans to himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he lets out a long sigh.

"God, just thinking about it gives me a headache..."

* * *

"So, I remember when I first met Wanda... me and Marisa drove out to the Corral to look for you when you were... well, you know... missing. She was really nice... still is, by the way. Plus the nachos were super tasty. Wanda seemed to have a lot of fond memories of you playing pool, although I did get the impression she's not too keen on Trey. Anyways, I really hope that you can teach me how to play. I know it probably takes a lot of concentration and patience... two attributes I clearly do not possess, but I'm in luck because you have the ability to concentrate and have tons of patience, so maybe some of it will rub off on me..."

Seth turns his head and sees Ryan laying in the lounge chair with his eyes closed; his arms crossed over his heather blue, long-sleeve crew, breathing softly.

"You fell asleep... I've been talking to myself again."

Seth stands up and lets out a long sigh. "I know you've been really tired lately so it's good you're taking a nap. I'll be in my bedroom... come find me when you wake up."

* * *

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Cohen," Jack says, greeting Kirsten with a well-rehearsed smile as she and Sandy step into the office.

"Detective," Kirsten acknowledges stiffly, folding her arms in front of her body and nodding her head in return.

"So, Detective... what do you need to speak to us about?" Sandy inquires, knowing it can't be anything good, otherwise he would have just called.

"Why don't you both sit down..."

"We can stand..."

"As you wish," Jack sighs, struggling with how best to broach the subject. "Mr. and Mrs. Cohen, I... well... I have good news and bad news."

Sandy and Kirsten both look at each other, then glance back over at the weary-looking detective.

"Why don't you give us the bad news first," Sandy states, wanting to get the worst out of the way.

"Very well... Karl McLaughlin was found dead in his cell this morning," Jack spits out, deciding to take the direct approach. "He hanged himself."

"He what!" Sandy cries out in disbelief. "How could this happen!"

Kirsten gasps and places her hand over her mouth, not quite believing what she's hearing.

"It's being ruled a suicide."

"Why wasn't he on suicide watch?" Sandy asks, his voice laced with anger.

"Mr. McLaughlin has been cooperating since day one when we struck that deal with him to implicate Caleb in the murder of Vincent Manetti," Jack explains, understanding their emotional response to the news. "The man showed no signs of distress or misgivings..."

"So what happens now?" Kirsten asks, her voice shaking as she tries to keep her emotions in check.

"Well, I'm afraid that without Mr. McLaughlin's testimony, the prosecution has no case," Jack explains with a heavy heart. "All the other evidence is circumstantial. The judge has dismissed all charges since there just isn't enough to prosecute."

"Oh my god..." Kirsten whispers under her breath, feeling her legs suddenly become weak as she sits down in the chair.

"So what you're saying, Detective, is that my father-in-law is now a free man?" Sandy asks, knowing full well what the answer will be.

"I'm afraid so," Jack replies, hating to see the couple looking so dejected and beaten. "Until we get something more, Caleb Nichol can go where he chooses and do as he pleases. I'm so very sorry."

Sandy runs his hand through his thick, black hair and groans to himself, thinking about the smug look that must have appeared on his father-in-law's face when his lawyers told him that the charges were dropped and he was free to go home.

"Detective O'Brien, you said you also had good news," Sandy states, feeling now would be a perfect time to hear something positive.

"Yes, we've actually gotten a break in our search for the suitcase Frank Atwood had in his possession when his truck was stolen down in Mexico," Jack states, thrilled to relay the promising development. "Detectives Strauss and Rodriguez are in Tijuana now, following up on the lead."

"Why didn't you go down with them?" Sandy asks out of curiosity.

"My 'Spanish' is quite dismal, I'm afraid. I can read the menu at Taco Bell, but that's about it," Jack explains, knowing his partner, Kathryn Strauss, has been after him to become more fluent in the language.

 _"We live and work in southern California!"_ Jack remembers Kathryn telling him. _"For god's sake, Jack... take a class!"_

"Trust me... I would be more of a hindrance than a help to the Mexican police."

"So this suitcase... is it the one that had the money my father used to pay Frank to abduct..." Kirsten swallows back the bile rising in her throat, feeling disgusted at the thought of what her father did to Ryan... to her family. "Is it the suitcase my father gave to Frank?"

"Like I said, we're checking out the lead," Jack replies, not wanting to give away too much about the ongoing investigation.

Kirsten stands back up as she becomes interested in this new development. "But, when you find the suitcase, you'll be able to arrest my father, right?"

"My colleagues and I are working around the clock on this..."

"God, how are we going to tell Seth and Ryan that my father is out of prison..."

"Honey, we don't need to tell them anything right away. It can wait until tomorrow morning," Sandy says, desperately wanting the two boys to go out and have a good time tonight. "And we need to go to that fundraiser."

"I agree with your husband, Mrs. Cohen. You all need to go on with your lives. I'll let you know if anything else develops."

"I know... you're right. You're both right," Kirsten sighs, her voice slightly shaky from the stress. "I think I need to go lay down for a bit..."

"That's a good idea, sweetheart," Sandy says approvingly as he gives his wife a loving hug and gentle kiss on the top of her head. "I'm going to walk Detective O'Brien to his car and grab the mail. I'll be back shortly."

* * *

Ryan opens his eyes and blinks a few times then frantically looks around, trying desperately to remember where he is. He suddenly feels a pressure... a slight weight... upon his lower right leg. Glancing down towards his feet, Ryan sees a large, gray rat perched upon his shin; its beady, red eyes staring back... taunting him.

"Oh no..." Ryan gasps softly under his breath, paralyzed with fear... unable to move his arms or legs.

Ryan watches in horror as the rat slowly makes its way up his leg then suddenly stop on his lower thigh. Ryan feels a stinging pain as the rodent digs it's razor-sharp claws through the denim of his jeans, piercing his skin.

"Please... no..."

Ryan notices blood begin to ooze through his jeans as the rat continues to dig its claws deeper into his flesh. As the blood drips onto the cement, Ryan glances down and sees a pool of blood form beneath him, then watches the crimson fluid slowly trickle away.

"It's not my blood," Ryan tries to convince himself.

 _It can't be my blood..._

* * *

Sandy and Jack stroll slowly down the driveway as an uncomfortable silence develops between them. They both stop next to the detective's dark blue sedan when Sandy finally breaks the silence.

"Detective O'Brien, you'll have to excuse my skepticism, but you've been searching for evidence in Mexico for six months. This lead you have... how reliable is it?" Sandy asks, hoping the detective will be more forthcoming about the case.

Jack sighs as he fumbles for his car keys, knowing he owes Sandy Cohen more than a shred of hope. And after seeing the intense anger in the man's eyes just mere minutes ago, Jack also fears the lawyer may try to take matters into his own hands; something he and his colleagues cannot afford to have happen.

"You must promise me that what I'm about to tell you stays between us," Jack states firmly. "You can't even tell your wife."

"You have my word," Sandy states assuredly, needing to hear what the detective has to say.

"Last night, the Mexican police arrested a local woman, Maria Sanchez, for pickpocketing and attempting to steal a car," Jack explains to Sandy, noting the intensity in the man's eyes as he listens attentively.

"Does my father-in-law know this woman?"

"No, but Frank Atwood did. According to Detective Strauss, Maria Sanchez was sitting in the police station awaiting booking when a young officer spotted her. He remembered the woman from a run-in she had with Frank a little over six months ago," Jack explains as he folds his arms across his chest and leans against his car. "He explained to her what happened; how Frank abducted his son and then abandoned him, and how we've been after the man who paid Frank to kidnap his son."

"So, she has Frank's suitcase?"

"From what I understand, Maria and her husband, Jose, along with her brother, Carlos Alvarez, are con artists. I guess they set Frank up and stole his truck. Frank was arrested for attempted assault along with a host of other charges and well, the rest is history."

"What are you not telling me..."

"Well, we don't actually have the suitcase or even the truck, for that matter," Jack explains, hoping the man won't lose his cool again. "But, we're working on it."

Sandy takes in a deep breath to reel in the anger he feels seething up inside him.

"The Mexican police really don't care about Mrs. Sanchez and her family of grifters," Jack continues, relieved the man is keeping his emotions in check.

Jack glances down the tree-lined street, taking in the sunlight as it shimmers through the gently quaking leaves, then looks back at Sandy.

"We've made a deal with Mrs. Sanchez. She helps us implicate Caleb Nichol in the kidnapping of Ryan, and the Mexican police drop all charges against her and her family. As far as we're concerned, they can keep the damn suitcase filled with money... if they ever find it."

"And just how is this 'Maria Sanchez' going to help?"

"That's where Detectives Strauss and Rodriguez come in," Jack states as he decides to trust Sandy Cohen, knowing he's a man of integrity. "We're setting up our own little sting operation. Caleb's lawyers have had their investigator down in Tijuana for months now, trying to find out what happened to Frank's truck and his belongings. We're going to make sure he hears about Mrs. Sanchez's arrest along with some interesting tidbits, and also that she has been released on her own recognizances."

"Can this woman be trusted?" Sandy asks, somewhat skeptical.

"She's a thief... a grifter," Jack replies, not completely comfortable with trusting a woman he doesn't really know. "But my colleagues assure me she's one-hundred percent on board. It turns out she despised Frank Atwood about as much as everyone else did. Plus, Kat showed her that picture she has of Ryan. Mrs. Sanchez took one look at the photo of the lad and well... "

"You've got to promise me, Detective, that you're going to do this right," Sandy states emphatically as he points his finger directly at Jack, not wanting his father-in-law to be able to weasel out of anything else. "I don't want Caleb's lawyers screaming 'entrapment'."

"Believe me, we understand," Jack replies earnestly. "If all goes as planned, Caleb Nichol will be back behind bars by this weekend."

"And what makes you so sure Caleb will go along with your ruse?"

Jack smiles and laughs quietly to himself. "Mr. Cohen, your father-in-law is a pompous, arrogant arse. That man's smugness will be his own undoing," Jack states, recalling the handful of times he's had to deal with Caleb Nichol. "Believe me, he'll bite; and when he does, we'll be there."

* * *

Ryan feels his heart beating out of his chest as anxiety courses through him. He stares into the rat's ravenous eyes; eyes hungry for something to eat... anything to eat.

 _Get away from me... please... no..._

As sweat forms on his brow and drips down his face, Ryan struggles to move his arms, longing to swat the rodent away. Suddenly, the rat lunges towards Ryan's face, letting out a harrowing high-pitched shriek. Ryan immediately brings his arms up in defense and tries to cry out, but finds himself unable to make a sound as he tumbles out of the lounge chair, landing harshly onto the hard cement below.

Ryan rolls over and lays on his back, placing his arms by his side as he desperately struggles to catch his breath.

"Why did you let that man shoot me..."

Ryan tilts his head up and looks down towards his feet as he feels ice cold hands wrap around his ankles.

"I... I didn't know..."

Ryan watches in horror as the decaying corpse moves her hands up his legs, dragging what's left of herself up over his body; her rat-eaten flesh hanging from her face as blood oozes from her sunken, gray eyes.

"You left me... just left me to die..."

"I... you were dead... I..."

Ryan feels the woman's frigid hands wrap around his waist; her sharp, bony fingers digging into his flesh as she continues to drag herself up over his lower torso and onto his chest.

"You left me all alone with those vicious, bloodthirsty rats..."

"I'm sorry..." _I'm so very sorry..._

Ryan shuts his eyes tightly closed as he tries to will the dead woman away.

 _She's not really here..._ Ryan thinks to himself, desperately needing to trust his own mind. After a few moments, Ryan opens his eyes when he hears a familiar, derisive laugh.

"You feel sorry for that bitch, don'tcha boy..."

Ryan blinks a few times as the large, ominous figure hovering over him slowly comes into focus.

"She was just some drunken crack whore, heroin addict... no one's gonna miss her..."

"No, you're wrong... she was somebody..."

"Yeah, you keep tellin' yourself that boy..."

Ryan's stomach begins to churn as the acrid smell of cheap whiskey permeates the air. He swallows back the bile rising in his throat as the large man straddles his chest, crushing him with his weight. Tears well up in his eyes as Ryan struggles to overcome the excrutiating pain from his father's knees digging mercilessly into his arms.

"Stop... you're hurting me..."

"Am I? Am I hurtin' ya boy?"

Ryan tries to cry out, but finds himself unable to make a sound.

"It's all your fault, you know... you're nothin' but trouble..."

"Get off of me you goddamn son-of-a-bitch!" Ryan finally cries out as he abruptly sits up and pulls his legs up towards his shivering body, wrapping his arms tightly around his knees. He lowers his head and begins to tremble as the cool March breeze wafts over his sweat-soaked shirt.

"Get off of me," Ryan sighs to himself.

 _Please,_ _just leave me alone..._

* * *

"So, how is the lad doing?" Jack asks, wanting to find out about Ryan before heading back to the station.

Sandy grabs a stack of mail out of the mailbox, then glances towards the house. "He seems to be doing pretty well, although he has been having some trouble sleeping."

"Well, that should be expected," Jack says as he begins to open the driver's side door, but then stops. "Mr. Cohen, I hope you won't feel I'm intruding..."

"What is it, Detective?"

"I know it's been about six months now since the lad's ordeal with his father and being sick... I was just wondering if he's showing any signs of PTSD."

Sandy walks over to Jack and leans against the car, interested in hearing more of what the detective has to say.

"Ryan's still in therapy," Sandy explains, assuming the sessions have been helping. "But, Dr. Evans did tell us to be on the lookout for symptoms..."

"I'd like to share a little story with you if I may..."

"Of course," Sandy says, his curiousity piqued.

"It was about twenty years ago... I was a fresh 'boot' just out of the academy. My TO was a man who had served two tours in Vietnam. He was a tough son-of-a-bitch but fair, and even though he was my training officer, I considered him a friend."

"What happened?"

"I remember it was a blazing hot afternoon in July; we got a call about a bank getting held up and the robbers had taken hostages. We arrived along with a host of other patrol cops and the SWAT team."

Jack runs his hand over his face, sighing as he recalls the memory.

"Suddenly, the robbers began to open fire. The scene was utter chaos. I remember glancing over at my TO and the look on his face... I can't explain it... he looked absolutely shell-shocked; sweating profusely and hyperventilating. All of a sudden he starts running towards the bank, firing wildly and screaming. The robbers had semi-automatic weapons... he never stood a chance."

"Did your training officer suffer from post traumatic stress?" Sandy asks, wondering how someone with the condition could have been serving on the police force.

"According to his widow, he had been suffering from bad dreams and flashbacks for months, even though it had been years since he had served his last tour in Nam."

"Didn't you or the other officers suspect anything?"

"That's just it... he seemed perfectly fine. I sat next to that man in the squad car every God-given day and didn't notice a single thing wrong. No one did," Jack states, hoping he's getting his point across. "If we had known... maybe if his wife had said something to us, he could have gotten help. That day, the force lost a damn good cop and I also lost a friend."

"Believe me, Detective O'Brien... we're keeping a close eye on Ryan. Between me, my wife and son, and Dr. Evans... we should be able to spot if something is wrong."

"All I'm saying is, people with PTSD sometimes try to hide their fears and anxieties in hope their distress will just go away. Ryan's a quiet lad... very private... I'd hate to see anything more bad happen to him."

"Thank you... I appreciate your concern," Sandy says earnestly.

"You know you can call me anytime, day or night, if you need anything," Jack says as he gets into his car, reinforcing how much both he and Kathryn have come to care deeply for the family... especially Ryan.

Sandy leans down and looks intently at the detective sitting in his car. "I appreciate everything you're doing, but please... just concentrate on bringing my father-in-law to justice. Every second that man is free is a blatant affront to my family."

Jack offers a sincere smile, understanding how the man feels. "Mr. Cohen, soon Caleb Nichol will be back behind bars where he belongs. You have my word."

* * *

Ryan slowly lowers his legs as the shivering of his body begins to subside. He runs his hands over his thighs, noting his jeans are perfectly intact; no tearing... no blood. He gingerly gets up and stumbles over to the edge of the pool, then kneels down.

"It was just a bad dream," Ryan tells himself as he dips his hand into the water and splashes the refreshing liquid onto his face. "Everyone has bad dreams occasionally..."

Ryan slowly stands back up and runs his hands through his sweat-soaked hair as he looks around the patio, then glances at the house.

"No one needs to know... they've got enough to deal with, and besides... it was just a dream."

 _That's all it was... it was just a bad dream..._

 **Individual Responses :**

 **matthesbj** : I always appreciate your feedback. Thank you! I'm also happy you liked the ending to my last story. I got the impression not many readers did. I gave my all to that story and I ended it exactly the way I wanted to end it. It was quite disheartening to get so much negative feedback, so your positive and encouraging words were most welcome. :-)

 **pico1989** : Thanks for your continued feedback and support. I always felt the dynamic between Ryan and Trey was complicated, to say the least. Also, thanks for the kudos regarding the ending of my last story, and yes, I will be resolving the issue with Caleb. :-)

 **Nadine** : Happy you're liking my story so far. There's much more to come! :-)

 **5-STAR** **:** Short, sweet and always positive. Thank you so much! :-)

 **guest** **:** Thanks for the feedback. :-) I understand what you mean about the show's gaps in time and seemingly always forgetting Ryan's plight (but never Marisa's). That was always frustrating.

In regards to Kirsten, I've come to the conclusion that you, as well as other readers, just don't like the character, so no matter what I write you will continue to find fault with her. (I'm a bit surprised no one gave her praise for shunning Dawn.) I always felt that, on the show, Kirsten's and Ryan's relationship was either ignored or poorly written. This is why I write Kirsten and Ryan having a close, loving relationship. I wanted to see it on the show and it's also the relationship, I feel, that's needed for my story.

Also, you mentioned being confused about Ryan sleeping in the house instead of the pool house. Back awhile ago, when Ryan was released from the hospital after his ordeal with Frank, Kirsten checked on Ryan when he was still in the pool house and found him sleeping on the living room couch. Kirsten decided it was time Ryan had his own bedroom in the main house. Also, Kirsten mentioned to Ryan at the end of my last story that she was going to use the pool house as a home office. Because the Cohen's intend to adopt Ryan, it wouldn't make much sense to keep him out in the pool house. Thus, Ryan is in the main house for good. :-)

 **gues** **t:** Thanks for giving me a chance and you're right, my last name is not Schwartz (although my son's name is Ryan). :-)

In regards to your comment regarding how Ryan acted towards the end of my last story, I don't feel he was impersonating someone else. What I tried to convey is the fact that after a person experiences a traumatic event, many times that person will bury it away as a coping mechanism (something I felt Ryan would do). Ryan was very happy to be out of the hospital and back home with the Cohen's. Dr. Morrison wouldn't have allowed him to go home if she didn't feel he was well enough, both physically and emotionally. Ryan would also want to try to get back into a routine and do activities that would give him comfort. Having Ryan continue to languish in a state of shock would have become, in my opinion, repetitive and boring. I've jumped ahead in time so I can freshen things up and address the "instrusive memories PTSD"; a condition I believe Ryan would eventually, and realistically, suffer from.

 **Emily989** **:** Thank you for your feedback. I know you really want Kaitlin in this fanfic, but I'm afraid the character wouldn't fit in with what I'm planning to happen in my story. I already have this story outlined and I know exactly what I plan to write and how this story will end.

Again, I urge you to either write your own story (you seem to be bursting with ideas) or find a writer who would do a better job at writing the characters you wish to see portrayed.

 **Guest** **:** Ouch! That stung a bit. I never intended the segment I wrote concerning Dawn and Lenny to be funny or a joke. I actually wrote that from the heart and wanted to close that story arc on a positive note. I remember when Dawn wasn't drinking, she seemed to be a fairly intelligent, articulate woman. For the purpose of my story, I chose to have Dawn attain sobriety, not only for herself, but for Ryan and Lenny.

In regards to Trey, I'm writing my own scenario for the two brothers. On the show, I seem to remember Sandy accepting and welcoming Trey into the family without many qualms. I think Ryan may have been more wary of his brother than Sandy.

I am happy you enjoyed the Sandy/Ryan time. It seems to be the only part of my story that readers seem to like.


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **Several readers have mentioned in their reviews that Sandy had an affair. I didn't know this. I didn't watch the entire show, just bits and pieces online a few years ago. I assure you, Sandy won't be having an affair in my story. Just the idea totally bums me out. :-(**

 **Also, from what I'm being told about Trey, I believe I'm writing the character slightly different. In my last two stories, I feel I portrayed him as someone who loves and cares about his younger brother, but because of his past, things won't bode well for either of them.**

 **Thanks so much for the feedback and reviews. I appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Three

"Alright, so you know how to get to the Corral?"

"Yeah, Dad... I've driven there before, remember? With Marisa..." Seth replies, slightly annoyed, not appreciating the third degree.

"And you need to be home by midnight... no exceptions," Sandy states sternly, wanting his son to know there's no negotiation on the subject of curfew.

"Midnight... got it, Dad."

"So, where's Ryan?" Kirsten asks as she slips on her jacket and glances upstairs.

"Ryan's in the bathroom... I think he's taking a shower," Seth replies as he tries to scoot his parents through the foyer and out the front door. "I swear he must be the cleanest guy on the face of the earth."

"I really wanted to see him before we left," Kirsten says quietly, more to herself than to anyone else.

"Well, I suppose I can drag him out of the shower while he's still soaking wet so you can say 'good-bye' to him... but I don't think he'd appreciate that too much," Seth says, his words oozing with sarcasm.

"Alright, son... that's enough," Sandy admonishes, finding the teenager's comment inappropriate. "Your mother just wants to see Ryan before we leave..."

"I know... I'm sorry," Seth apologizes, understanding his parents' concern. "But, you don't need to worry about us. You guys just go out and have a good time and do whatever people your age do to... I don't know... have a good time."

"All right, then... we should get going, honey," Sandy says as he opens the front door for his wife. "If you want to take part in the silent auction before dinner, we need to leave now."

"All right, you and Ryan have fun tonight and drive safe," Kirsten says as she and Sandy leave for the fundraiser.

"I will drive safe and we shall have fun!" Seth assures his parents as he watches them leave.

Seth shuts the front door, then turns around and leans back, sighing as he glances up at the ceiling. "Finally..."

* * *

Trey sits in his parked car and lights up a cigarette, waiting for the right time to call Seth Cohen. He finally sees Sandy's BMW emerge from their upscale, gated community and waits a few moments longer, watching as the couple drive away.

"Now's as good of a time as any," Trey tells himself as he takes out his cell phone. "It's time to find out how loyal of a friend Seth Cohen really is..."

* * *

Seth makes his way back upstairs and notices the bathroom door is still closed. He presses his ear against the door and hears the shower running, then continues towards his bedroom when he hears his cell phone ring.

"Hello?"

 _"Hey, Seth... it's Trey. Sshhh... don't say my name. Are you alone?"_

Seth glances around his bedroom, then immediately shuts the door. "Um... yeah... Ryan's in the shower. I can have him call you back," Seth replies, slightly confused. "Ryan has his own cell phone now. Do you have his number?"

 _"Yeah, I got his number, but I wanna talk to you. I need to ask you a huge favor, but you gotta promise me you won't tell Ry."_

"Stealthy... yeah, I can do stealthy," Seth boasts, wanting to rise to the occasion. "What kind of favor do you need?"

 _"I know things didn't pan out for my brother and that neighbor chick... what's her name... Alyssa... Melissa..."_

"Marisa," Seth sighs heavily, not happy his neighbor couldn't hold herself together through all of her so-called catastrophic life crises. _Now, I'll probably never meet Summer Roberts..._

 _"What the hell happened with that, anyways. Ry mentioned he saw her a couple of times, but he wouldn't elaborate. Just said your folks didn't want him to date her."_

"Marisa's parents got a divorce and she's not handling it very well... I believe she's getting therapy."

 _"Fuck, no... she needs therapy 'cuz her parents got divorced? You're kiddin' me, right?"_

"I guess there's been some other stuff going on. She started drinking a lot... you know, the usual..."

 _"The chick is drop-dead gorgeous, she's probably the most popular girl at school and she lives in a fuckin' mansion. Geeze... if only I had her problems. Must be so rough..."_

Seth notes the sarcasm in Trey's voice and decides it's time to change the subject. "So, what's this favor?"

 _"I've arranged to hook Ry up with a chick who's friends with my girlfriend, Martie. Her name is Cyndie and she's hot. I mean... she's damn HOT!"_

"Okay, I get it... she's hot."

 _"I wanna surprise Ry. He's been through so much. He needs a little, you know... diversion, some TLC... somethin' to take his mind off of all the shit that has happened to him."_

"Are you sure Ryan will go along with your... I don't know what you want to call it... arrangement?"

 _"Hey, I know my own brother. He's gonna be seventeen... the kid's got needs."_

Seth ponders over Trey's words and soon finds himself in agreement. "So how can I help?"

 _"Well, it might get a tad bit awkward, you know... me n' Martie; Ry n' Cyndie..."_

Seth laughs softly to himself as he realizes what Trey is alluding to. "Oh, I get it... I'd be like a 'third wheel'."

 _"Yeah... I was hopin', you know... that maybe you could bow out this evening... just this one time, and let Cyndie show my little brother one helluva good time."_

"Okay, but what should I tell him?"

 _"I don't know... pretend you're not feelin' well..."_

"Oh, I can do that," Seth states with the utmost confidence. "I'm an absolute pro at faking all sorts of illnesses."

 _"All right then, we can do this! You are a good friend, Seth Cohen."_

Seth smiles, happy he's able to be of help.

"But, how is Ryan going to get to the Corral? My parents won't let him drive right now. He just started taking a new medication to help him sleep and they're waiting to see how it affects him."

 _"No problem... I just so happen to be in the area and can pick my brother up in... oh, let's say... twenty minutes?"_

"Okay, I'll let the security guard know to expect you," Seth says as he grabs his powder blue, terry cloth bathrobe and begins to get into "sick mode".

 _"Super! I owe ya one, Seth. I promise, we'll get together again real soon."_

"Sounds good. Oh, and Trey, one more thing before you go..."

 _"Yeah? What is it?"_

"Ryan's curfew is midnight."

 _"Midnight, got it... wouldn't want my little brother turnin' into a pumpkin."_

* * *

Trey sits back and flicks the ashes off his cigarette as he dangles his arm out the driver's side window.

"My god, Seth actually believed all that bullshit," Trey says to himself as a grin forms upon his face. "Ry would be pissed if I tried to set him up with a total stranger... without at least tellin' him about it first."

Trey glances at his watch and makes a mental note of the time.

"Now all I have to do is wait twenty minutes, then me and my brother can do some major catching up and shoot a little pool... just like the good old days," Trey says, continuing to talk to himself as he takes one last drag from his cigarette before tossing the butt away.

 _And if Eddie comes through for me and doesn't ask too many questions, I should have Ramon's money by midnight..._

* * *

Ryan rummages through his bedroom closet, then places his hands on his hips and sighs.

 _I have so many clothes... Kirsten needs to stop buying me so much stuff,_ Ryan thinks to himself, settling on a blue-textured, long-sleeve Henley pullover as he finishes getting dressed.

Ryan studies himself in the full-length mirror, running his hands over his clothes to smooth out any wrinkles. He takes in a long, deep breath, then exhales slowly.

 _I_ _can do this,_ Ryan thinks to himself as he studies his reflection in the mirror. _Nothing bad is going to happen tonight. I'll be with Seth and Trey and we're going to have a good time._

Ryan walks over to Seth's bedroom and knocks softly on the closed door.

"Hey, Seth... are you about ready to go?"

Seth cracks the door open slightly, then places his fist over his mouth and begins to cough. "Hey, I think I... uh... may be coming down with something, so I've decided to stay home tonight," Seth says while still hacking.

"Really, you seemed fine today at school..."

"It kind of came on suddenly... scratchy throat, cough... I'm feeling a bit achy..." Seth bemoans as he rubs his shoulder and bends his neck a few times.

"It sounds like you might have the flu," Ryan says with concern. "Maybe I should call Sandy and Kirsten."

"No, no... it's probably just an early, Spring cold..."

"Well, I'll give Trey a call and let him know we're not going out tonight."

"I already called him," Seth says as he lets out another violent expulsion of air. "Trey said he was in the area and would pick you up. He should be here any minute now."

"Are you sure? I don't need to go out tonight," Ryan says, somewhat confused his friend isn't begging him to stay home in the off chance he might need to be rushed to the hospital.

"There's no reason for you to stay home," Seth states as he coughs a bit more and blows his nose. "You go out with your brother and have a good time. Don't worry about me..."

Ryan begins to object when he suddenly hears the doorbell ring. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure... now scoot! Shoo!" Seth orders as he waves his arms out in front of himself. "Go out and have a good time."

Seth watches as his friend walks away down the hallway, then wraps his arms around himself and pretends to shiver.

 _At least one of us is going to have a good time tonight..._

* * *

Ryan hurries down the stairs and opens the front door.

"Hey Ry! You ready to go?"

"Yeah, let me grab my jacket..."

Trey watches his brother and smiles at what he sees. "You're lookin' good, kid... I take it things are goin' well?"

Ryan gives his brother a half grin and shrugs. "Things are going alright... could be worse."

"When I spoke with Seth earlier, he mentioned you were takin' somethin' to help you sleep," Trey says, digging for more information as he and Ryan walk down the driveway to the car. "What's that all about?"

"It's nothing... I'm fine."

"Uh, huh..."

"So this is your car?" Ryan asks, quickly changing the subject.

"Yeah, she may not be much to look at, but she's mine," Trey says in defense of his 1990 dark blue Dodge Daytona. "She came fully equipped with vintage rust, high mileage and no hubcaps. What more could a guy want?"

Ryan laughs, remembering how funny his brother could be.

"Okay, but how does she run?" Ryan asks as he gets in the passenger side and buckles his seatbelt.

"Eddie just tuned her up last week so she purrs like a kitten," Trey replies as he starts up the engine, appreciating his friend working on his car in exchange for a six-pack of beer. "Um... speaking of Eddie... I should probably tell you..."

"Tell me what?"

"Well, he's gonna be at the Corral tonight..."

"That's great! I'd like to see him," Ryan says, realizing it's been quite awhile since he's seen friends from the old neighborhood.

"Yeah, but... okay, how should I put this," Trey sighs as he merges onto the freeway and immediately maneuvers his way into the far left lane to avoid the slowpokes. "According to Eddie, after you left Chino... well, Theresa was heartbroken... and angry."

"I know... I probably should have called her, but a lot of stuff happened..."

"I know kid..." Trey acknowledges, wishing he could take away his brother's pain. "If it'll make you feel any better, when I was in prison I did sucker-punch that arrogant son-of-a-bitch, Caleb Nichol. Felt damn good..."

Ryan glances over at Trey and offers a small smile, appreciating his brother's effort. "So what about Eddie?"

"He and Theresa hooked up. Personally, I think she was on the rebound..." Trey looks over at his brother, trying to gauge the teenager's emotions. "They're plannin' on gettin' married this summer."

Ryan feels a small tinge of jealousy course through him, but then suddenly becomes content. "That's great... I'm happy for them."

"Really? You are?"

"Yeah, Eddie's a good guy... he's a hard worker," Ryan says, convincing himself that whatever life he had in Chino is now over. "Theresa deserves the best... I'm sure they'll be happy together."

"All right, cool..." Trey says as he rolls his window all the way down after he lights up a cigarette. "You ready to shoot some pool, Ry?"

"I haven't played in awhile, so I'll be a bit rusty," Ryan replies, looking forward to the diversion, anything to take his mind off the visions that have been plaguing him recently... day and night.

"So maybe I'll actually have a chance to beat you at a game or two," Trey states, glancing over at Ryan with a smile as he places his hand on his brother's shoulder. "It's just you n' me kid tonight. Let's have some fun..."

* * *

Caleb sits at his dark mahogany desk in his home office, sipping an eighteen-year-old Talisker single malt Scotch. He leans forward in his chair, studying his financials on the computer screen and sighs.

 _I may need to sell the yacht,_ Caleb laments to himself. _And, there's not much left of the Newport Group..._

"So much for family loyalty," Caleb scoffs aloud, disappointed his daughter left the company he founded. "But, I can rebuild... I became wealthy and powerful starting out with nothing and I will do it again. I'll show them... I'll show them all."

 _At least I still have my private jet..._

Caleb's thoughts are suddenly interrupted when his phone rings. "Yes?"

 _"Caleb, Bill Jennings calling..."_

"This better be good, calling me on a Friday evening," Caleb states gruffly to his lawyer, knowing that even when they call him, he still gets charged by the minute.

 _"Good news, Caleb. Our investigator down in Tijuana has stumbled upon some very interesting information."_

Caleb leans back in his chair and takes another sip of his Scotch. "I'm listening..."

 _"A local woman was arrested for some petty crimes... that's not important. What is important is that she knew Frank Atwood."_

Caleb immediately sits up straight in his chair and sets his glass down on the desk. "Go on..."

 _"According to our investigator, Frank was arrested for assaulting this woman."_

"That doesn't surprise me..."

 _"This woman, along with her husband and brother, stole Frank's truck along with all the money he had with him."_

"Where's the money now?" Caleb asks with curiosity, but in a demanding tone of voice.

 _"Guess the three of them blew it all in Vegas... all, except for..."_

"Spit it out, Bill... I have no time for games."

 _"According to our investigator, this woman has, in her possession, a black briefcase holding approximately six thousand dollars. Guess she didn't want to share it with her husband or her brother."_

"That's the briefcase I gave to Frank and probably what's left of the money I initially gave to that no-good ex-con," Caleb snarls as he rests his elbows on the desk and sighs.

 _"Well, the woman has been released on her own recognizances. In return, the police want her to surrender the briefcase to them... with the money, of course."_

"We can't let that happen, Bill."

 _"Our investigator is handling it..."_

"No, I'm handling it!" Caleb states firmly. "What's this woman's name and where can I find her."

 _"Caleb, we've got this..."_

"I don't think you're listening, Bill."

 _"Caleb, as your lawyer, I strongly urge you to let us handle this."_

"And, as my lawyer, you do as I say. You work for me!" Caleb shouts as he pounds his fist on his desk, becoming impatient as he watches the minutes quickly tick away along with the rest of his fortune. "Now give me the information!"

 _"Very well, her name is Maria Sanchez. She's staying at some fleabag motel in Tijuana... the Suites Leon Rojo."_

An uneasy silence comes over the phone as Caleb diligently writes down the information.

 _"Caleb, I'm going on record again to say... as your lawyer, I urge you to let us handle this."_

"Tell your investigator to return to the States," Caleb orders with brash confidence. "And Bill..."

 _"Yes, Caleb?"_

"Don't call me. I'll call you..."


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **Thanks so much for the feedback and reviews. I appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Four

"Oh my God! Look at you!" Wanda shouts out over the loud music, running over to Ryan as he and Trey walk into the bar. "How are you doin'?"

"I'm doing alright," Ryan replies with a bashful smile, graciously accepting the woman's friendly hug.

"Hey, Wanda... have you seen Eddie?" Trey asks as he glances around the area.

"He was shootin' some pool over there a couple of minutes ago," Wanda replies, nodding in the direction of the jukebox.

Wanda watches as Trey walks off, then turns her attention back over to Ryan.

"I thought Seth was comin' with you," Wanda says as she walks the boy over to the last vacant stool at the crowded bar.

"He wasn't feeling well."

"Oh, might be that crud that's been goin' around. Billy was out last week with it. I told him if he didn't get better soon and haul his scrawny, little ass back in here to work, I was gonna kill him," Wanda says playfully with a wink of her eye. "It is 'March Madness', you know."

Ryan lets out a quiet laugh and takes a sip of the soft drink Wanda places in front of him. "Oh, does this have..."

"Caffeine?" Wanda says, finishing the boy's question. "No... Sandy told me you can't have any caffeine in the evening." Wanda leans over the bar and places her hand on Ryan's forearm. "Are you hungry? Can I getcha somethin' to eat?"

"I'm starved," Ryan replies, realizing he hasn't eaten anything since lunch.

"Billy! Plate of nachos!"

"Comin' right up boss!" Billy yells back, happy to be at work again.

Wanda studies Ryan intently and watches as the boy glances around the noisy bar. She's not quite sure if he's looking around for friends or searching for a place to hide.

"You know, the folks in this place are here to let loose and have some fun. They don't give a 'hoot' about anything that's happenin' out there," Wanda says, nodding her head towards the door as she places the plate of nachos down in front of the hungry teenager.

Ryan smiles at Wanda as he enthusiastically digs into the tasty appetizer. "Thanks..."

Wanda leans back and folds her arms across her body and smiles, watching as the boy delves into the bar food. "You're very welcome."

* * *

"Maybe I should call them... make sure they're alright."

"Sweetheart, relax... the boy's are fine," Sandy reassures as he places his hand upon his wife's arm.

"I just... I don't know," Kirsten sighs as she takes her husband's hand into hers. "I just feel like something bad is going to happen. I can't shake the feeling, Sandy. I'm worried..."

"Nothing bad is going to happen," Sandy says as he gives his wife's hand a gentle squeeze. "Seth and Ryan are good kids... we can trust them."

"I trust our boys, Sandy. It's Trey who I don't trust." Kirsten glances around the crowded room and sighs, then looks intently into her husband's eyes. "Do you trust him?"

"I want to... for Ryan," Sandy replies earnestly. "Trey is his brother so he's family. We can't ignore that fact. But Trey has to prove himself, which is why I'm not allowing Ryan to 'hang out' with his brother on his own."

Kirsten smiles, attempting to bury her misgivings as she finishes her decadent dessert.

"Oh, no..." Sandy sighs as he glances across the room and spots Julie Cooper making a beeline in their direction.

"What is it?"

"Honey, let's dance," Sandy states as he immediately stands up from the table and offers his hand to Kirsten. "We haven't danced in ages."

Kirsten looks up at her handsome husband and smiles. "I thought you'd never ask..."

* * *

"Hey man... what's up?" Eddie asks as he fist bumps his friend.

"I need a favor," Trey says as he backs Eddie up into a corner, away from prying ears.

"Sure, you name it."

"Do you have your cell phone on you?"

"Yeah... why?"

"Do you got it set to 'vibrate'?"

"Of course... I can't hear 'shit' over this noise," Eddie replies, patting his jacket pocket where he keeps his phone.

"Good, I need you to do somethin' for me. I'm gonna call you a little later and when I do, I want you to start a little ruckus, just enough to get Wanda's attention."

"You want me to start a bar fight?" Eddie asks, curious yet intrigued.

"Not a full-on fight, just a diversion... can you do that for me?"

"I suppose there's no use askin' why..."

"Just... can you do it for me, Eddie?" Trey asks with a hint of desperation in his voice.

Eddie smiles and runs his hand over his black goatee as he looks around at the intoxicated patrons having a good time.

"You bet... this should be fun."

"Thanks, man... I owe ya one..."

"That you do, my friend," Eddie says as he walks back over to the pool table. "Hey Ryan! Come and join us!"

Ryan spins around on the barstool and spots Eddie holding up an extra cue stick.

"You go shoot some pool," Wanda says, wanting the boy to have as much fun as possible. "I gotta get back to work."

Ryan takes one more bite of the nachos, then walks over to Eddie.

"Here, kid," Eddie says as he hands Ryan the cue stick. "Rack 'em up..."

* * *

 _"Suites Leon Rojo. Como puedo ayudarle?"_

"Yes... si... hablas ingles?" Caleb asks, hoping the man can speak English.

 _"Si, senor... How may I help you?"_

"I would like to speak to Maria Sanchez. I believe she is staying at your fine... ahem... establishment," Caleb says, clearing his throat as he maintains an air of superiority.

 _"Un momento, por favor..."_

Caleb sits back in his chair and finishes the last sip of his beloved single malt Scotch.

 _"Hola?"_

"Hello, am I speaking with Maria Sanchez?" Caleb asks as he stands up and begins pacing around the room. "Hablas ingles?"

 _"Si, es Maria. Hablo ingles."_

"Senora Sanchez, my name is Caleb Nichol. We don't know each other, but it's been brought to my attention that you have something that belongs to me."

 _"Um... I do not follow..."_

"I believe you have, in your possession, a black briefcase," Caleb states firmly, wanting to make sure the woman knows he's in control. "This briefcase contains a small sum of money, approximately six thousand dollars?"

 _"Como sabes que... how do you know about that?"_

"That's not important. What is important is that I get the briefcase back," Caleb states emphatically, wanting to stress the significance of what's at stake. "I'm a businessman, Senora Sanchez. I'm willing to offer you a large sum of money... say, twenty-five thousand... in return for the briefcase and whatever cash is left inside."

 _"But why, Senor? No entiendo... I do not understand."_

"That briefcase was stolen from me around six months ago. It has, how shall I say... sentimental value. It's very dear to me," Caleb says, concocting what he hopes is a plausible explanation. "My father gave that briefcase to me as a gift when I first started out in the business world. He has since passed away and I would very much like it back."

 _"Lo siento por tu padre..."_

"Yes, I'm very sorry about my father also," Caleb says, quickly casting the irrelevant subject aside. "I can be down in Tijuana by morning and can meet you at the Suites Leon Rojo at ten," Caleb states, hoping the woman will accept his offer. "Do we have a deal?"

 _"Si, Senor... we have a deal. Estoy en la sala veinte y cuatro..."_

"Room twenty-four... excellent," Caleb says, jotting down the information. "Saturday morning at ten. I look forward to doing business with you, Senora Sanchez."

* * *

"Como hago?"

"You did great," Kathryn replies, smiling at Maria as she presses the "stop" button on the recorder. "You let Mr. Nichol do all the talking and you never once mentioned the briefcase."

"She's a natural, I tell you," Rodriguez chimes in. "The lady should be in the movies."

"Well, Hollywood will have to wait," Kathryn says as she gathers up their recording gear. "We've got more important things to deal with."

"Now what?" Maria asks as she wipes the palms of her hands on her dress, surprised by how nervous she felt talking to Caleb Nichol over the phone and loathing the prospect of meeting the stern man in person. "Isn't that tape enough to arrest him?"

"Sadly, no," Kathryn sighs as she digs into the pocket of her suit jacket for her cell phone. "We need Mr. Nichol to admit he gave Frank the briefcase."

"Entiendo..."

Kathryn notices Maria's slight apprehension and gently places her hand upon the woman's forearm.

"Senora Sanchez, everything will be alright," Kathryn says in a reassuring voice. "Just stick with the script and I promise you, Caleb Nichol will do the rest."

Maria glances into Kathryn's deep, blue eyes and smiles. "Bueno, Detective."

Kathryn returns the woman's smile, then makes her way to the other side of the room. She flips open her cell phone and quickly sends a text to her partner.

 _took the bait :-) all set for tomorrow am_

* * *

"Hey, can I have two Michelobs?"

Wanda closely studies the woman on the other side of the bar as she takes out two bottles of beer.

"Who's the other beer for?" Wanda asks, not wanting the beverage getting into the hands of an underage patron.

"Thought I'd buy a drink for that adorable-lookin' guy over there shootin' pool," the woman states, pointing her finger in Ryan's direction. "He looks like he could use a refreshment... and maybe a little somethin' more..."

"I don't think so," Wanda says as she immediately takes back one of the bottles of beer. "That 'adorable-lookin' guy' is sixteen and off limits, sweetheart."

"Really? He's sixteen?" the woman questions, frowning as she pays for the one drink. "All right, so would you object if I bought him a coke?"

"Yeah, I would. What did I just say! The boy is off limits!" Wanda repeats, wondering if the woman has a rock for a brain. "The kid came here to shoot pool and hang out with friends, not get picked up by some hot-to-trot hussy ten years his senior."

"Fine, geeze... you don't gotta get all bent out of shape about it."

"Why don't you hit on his older brother... he's a bit closer to your age," Wanda states with a smirk on her face, watching as the woman abruptly walks away in a huff. "Ooh, speak of the devil..."

"Hey, Wanda... can I talk to you for a sec?" Trey asks as he places his elbows on the bar and leans forward. "I got a favor to ask."

"This should be good..."

"I was hopin' you could lend me some money... say a hundred bucks? Ry's birthday is comin' up and I wanna buy him a gift."

"Trey, you don't have to buy Ryan anything expensive..."

"I know, Wanda... but I wanna get him somethin' special. Somethin' from me," Trey pleads earnestly. "I saw this watch the other day at the mall and I know he'd love it. It's on sale but the sale ends this weekend."

"I don't know, Trey... it's a lot of money."

"I'll pay ya back next Friday... I promise," Trey states, hoping the woman will come around. "Just... will ya help me out, Wanda? Please?"

Wanda sighs and shakes her head. "Fine. Come with me."

Trey follows Wanda into the back office, making sure the door remains open.

"You are a good friend, Wanda..."

"Yeah, well if I'm such a good friend, I'll expect to be paid back in full by next Friday," Wanda states as she kneels down on the floor, turning the dial to unlock the combination safe.

As Wanda opens the safe, Trey notices the wads of cash bundled together along with the daily receipts. He reaches into his coat pocket and takes out his cell phone, pushes "Eddie" on his speed dial, then waits impatiently for his friend to come through on his word.

* * *

Eddie leans over the pool table, fine-tuning his next shot when he suddenly feels his cell phone vibrate. He quickly checks to see that it's Trey, then immediately takes a step backwards and rams the butt of his cue stick into a man's gut.

"Hey, I'm tryin' to make a shot here!" Eddie spits out with frustration. "You're in my way!"

"I'm not in your way, asshole. You stepped back into me!"

"Eddie, come on man, I don't think the guy meant to..."

"Stay out of this, Ryan!" Eddie orders, not wanting the kid to get involved.

"Hey, don't tell that kid what he can and can't do!" the man fires back as he steps towards Eddie and glares at him, itching for a fight.

"Get out of my face, jerk!" Eddie snarls, finding himself becoming angry.

"Gladly," the man states as he hauls off and punches Eddie in the jaw.

Ryan quickly backs away as he watches a barroom brawl suddenly erupt before his eyes.

* * *

"All right, here's a hundred bucks," Wanda says, handing Trey the money. "Ryan better love that watch."

"Wanda! Bar fight!" Billy yells, trying to get his boss's attention.

"Oh, for heaven's sake... not another one!" Wanda says, exasperated as she begins to shut the safe. "Coming!"

Trey quickly lodges his foot under the safe door to keep it from closing as he watches Wanda scurry off to put an end to the bar fight.

 _Thank you, Eddie,_ Trey thinks to himself as he shuts the office door, then diligently begins grabbing the wads of cash and stuffing them in his jacket pockets. _Hopefully, this will be enough for Ramon._

Trey leaves the safe door slightly ajar, then wipes it down with his jacket sleeve. He quickly makes his way back into the bar and searches for Ryan, praying his brother isn't stuck in the middle of the riotous brawl.

"Ry! There you are!" Trey shouts out over the noise, happy to see his brother standing in the corner out of harms way. "Come on! We gotta get goin'..."

Ryan quickly ducks as a beer bottle comes flying through the air, missing his head by mere inches. "Maybe we should stay and help Wanda..."

"Wanda can handle this... she doesn't need us," Trey states as he grabs his brother by the arm and drags him through the mayhem. "It's gettin' late and you need to be home by midnight."

"It's a quarter to eleven," Ryan points out as he dodges out of the way of a wild, flailing fist. "It doesn't take over an hour to drive back to Newport."

"I gotta stop someplace first," Trey explains as he and Ryan leave the bar, happy to escape in one piece. "Won't take long..."

"Where?"

"I got a little unfinished business to take care of," Trey says, hopping into his car and starting the engine. "Don't ask so many questions."

Ryan buckles his seatbelt and looks out the passenger-side window, wondering about his brother's so-called "unfinished business".

"Trey, you're not in trouble, are you?" Ryan asks, not sure if he should be worried, angry or both.

"No, don't worry... I'm not in any trouble," Trey assures, knowing his brother will probably worry anyways.

Ryan folds his arms across his body and sinks down into the seat, realizing he has no choice but to go along. He gazes out the side window, watching how the light of the full moon flickers through the branches of the passing trees. Minutes seem to fly by when Ryan realizes the car has come to a halt.

"Stay here... I'll be just a few minutes," Trey instructs as he gets out of the car. Trey leans into the open window and looks his brother straight in the eye. "Promise me you'll stay put."

Ryan gives a slight gesture with his hand, signaling to his brother he understands.

Trey walks briskly up to the small, unkempt house; the yard littered with beer cans and debris; the front window boarded up after an angry passer-by hurled a brick through the glass. He knocks on the door, then clears his throat in nervous anticipation.

"Yeah, who is it?" a voice asks behind the slightly opened door.

"It's me, Trey. I'm here to see Ramon."

Trey turns and looks cautiously back at the car. Under the flickering street light, he sees his brother resting his head upon the headrest.

 _Stay put, Ry,_ Trey thinks to himself as he steps into the house. _You can't get involved in this..._

* * *

Sandy pushes the button on the garage door opener and slowly pulls up the driveway.

"See, honey? The boys made it back safe and sound," Sandy tells his wife when he spots the Rover parked in the garage. "And, it's not even midnight yet."

Kirsten sighs in relief and smiles. "You were right, as usual. I was worrying about nothing," Kirsten admits as she and Sandy step into the house and make their way into the foyer to hang their jackets up in the closet.

The house is dark and eerily quiet as Sandy searches for the light switch.

"They must be asleep," Sandy says, turning on the light and squinting as his eyes adjust to the brightness.

"Do you think we could go up and check on the boys? I know they're too old to have parents tucking them in at night but..."

"They'll never be too old," Sandy says as he places his arm around his wife's shoulders, wanting to also check on the boys. "Plus, since they're probably sound asleep they won't even know we've looked in on them."

* * *

"Ramon's been expecting you... this way."

"I like what you've done with the place," Trey quips as he takes in the decrepit surroundings. "The peeling paint and mouse droppings are definitely a nice touch."

The young man smirks as he leads Trey down the dark hallway. "Don't be a smart ass..."

Trey rolls his shoulders in the effort to stay loose as he pats the wads of cash in his jacket pockets. The young man opens the door to the small room then stands aside, allowing Trey to enter first.

"You made it," Ramon states as he stacks small bags of cocaine on the poorly-made bed. "Tienes mi dinero?"

"I got your money right here," Trey says, pulling out the wads of cash and placing them on the bed. "So now we're square."

"Not so fast... I haven't counted it yet."

Trey sighs and stops walking out of the room, realizing he won't be able to leave until Ramon is satisfied.

"Alonzo, count it," Ramon orders to the young man, not trusting that Trey was able to come up with all the cash in such a short amount of time. "Make sure it's all there."

Trey walks over to the bed and watches as Alonzo slowly counts out the ones, fives, and tens... along with an occasional twenty.

 _Thought there'd be more twenties,_ Trey thinks to himself, worried he might come up short. _Fuck, this is gonna take forever..._

* * *

Sandy and Kirsten tiptoe down the hallway, making sure to be quiet so not to wake the boys. They first make their way to Seth's bedroom and open the door wide enough to both stick their heads into the room. They see a large pile of blankets in a state of disarray on the bed and hear faint snoring emanating deep from within.

"Guess he just can't party as long as us old folks can," Sandy whispers to Kirsten with a playful look in his eye as he quietly closes the door.

"He just hasn't had as much practice as we have," Kirsten points out, adding to the playful banter as she and Sandy make their way over to Ryan's bedroom, anticipating the same scenario. Sandy quietly opens the door but suddenly becomes alarmed.

"Honey, what is it?" Kirsten asks, detecting an abrupt change in her husband's demeanor.

"It's dark in here... and the curtains are closed," Sandy states with concern as he walks over to the window to open the drapes. "Ryan sometimes leaves the reading light off but he hasn't slept with the curtains closed since Frank abducted him."

"Sandy, he's not here!" Kirsten says frantically as the moonlight shines upon the empty, impeccably-made bed.

"All right, let's not worry," Sandy states, trying to keep his wits about him. "Honey, go downstairs and check all the couches. Also, check the lounge chairs on the patio. Ryan may have fallen asleep someplace other than his bedroom."

"All right, but Sandy... what if?"

"I'll check the bathrooms... make sure he's not sick," Sandy says, trying to remain focused. "Don't wory, sweetheart. Ryan has to be around here somewhere..."

* * *

"So, I noticed a door off the kitchen with a large deadbolt lock," Trey says, deciding to make small-talk with Ramon while Alonzo counts the money. "Where does it lead?"

"The basement..."

"The basement?" Trey says in disbelief. "Since when do houses in southern California have basements."

"A lot of these old houses have basements. That's why I took over this wretched dump," Ramon explains as he folds his heavily-tattooed arms across his chest. "It's actually more like a small, cement cellar. I use it when people don't pay up or try to rip me off... keep 'em down there for awhile... make 'em see the error of their ways."

"Got anyone down there now?" Trey asks out of curiosity.

"No... but that can quickly change, amigo."

Trey lets out a slight, nervous laugh, then looks over at Alonzo and sees he's only halfway through counting.

"Did you hear that?" Ramon asks, leaning towards the hallway.

"I didn't hear nothin'," Alonzo replies, maintaining his concentration and trying not to lose count.

"Maybe it's a mouse... or by the looks of this place, probably a rat," Trey says with a hint of sarcasm.

"I'll check it out... Alonzo, keep counting," Ramon orders as he takes a folding, serrated hunting knife out of his pocket and quietly steps into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Ramon slips into the shadows of a small alcove as he twists his knife methodically around in his hand, waiting patiently for his prey...

* * *

"He's not here, Sandy," Kirsten says, her voice quivering with fear. "I even checked the pool house."

"All right, he's not in any of the bathrooms and there's no messages on the answering machine," Sandy states, running his hand through his thick, dark hair as he tries to make some sense of the situation. "We need to wake up Seth. Maybe he knows where Ryan is."

Sandy and Kirsten rush up the stairs and head straight to Seth's bedroom, both trying their best to remain calm.

"Seth, wake up!" Sandy orders as he jostles his son awake.

"Mom... Dad? What is it? What's wrong?"

"We can't find Ryan... his bed hasn't been slept in. Do you know where he is?"

Seth rubs his eyes and yawns, glancing at the alarm clock and noting it's eleven fifty-six at night. "He's probably still with Trey."

"Ryan is with Trey?" Sandy asks with confusion and dismay. "Why aren't you with them? What the hell happened, Seth?"

"I... he... it's complicated, Dad..."

"Try me..." Sandy states, unamused as he folds his arms across his chest.

"I just... I just didn't feel up to going out tonight," Seth lies, not wanting to tell his parents the real reason he didn't go along. "Trey was in the neighborhood and picked him up. He knows Ryan has to be home by midnight, which I should point out, has not occured yet."

"You can stop with the sarcasm," Sandy tells his son, unable to mask the frustration and disappointment in his voice. "You were supposed to go with Ryan... drive to the Corral, visit with Trey and bring Ryan home safely."

"Well, sorry Dad... I didn't know I was the designated babysitter!" Seth cries out, not understanding what all the hoopla is about. "I'm sure Ryan's fine. Why don't you just call him."

"Good idea," Sandy states as he takes out his cell phone and dials Ryan's number.

"What's that?" Kirsten asks, turning around and walking out into the hallway towards the "ringing" sound.

Sandy and Seth follow Kirsten down the hallway and into Ryan's bedroom.

"Ryan's cell phone," Sandy states as he grabs the ringing phone off the side table. "He didn't take his phone with him?"

"He's always forgetting his phone, Dad," Seth explains, not surprised his friend left his phone in his bedroom. "I always have to remind him to bring it with him."

"All right, I'll call Trey," Sandy states as he looks through his contact list in search for Trey's number.

Sandy lets out a deep sigh when his call goes straight to voicemail.

"Trey, this is Sandy. It's past Ryan's curfew and we're starting to get a little worried. Call me when you get this."

"What about Wanda?" Kirsten offers, knowing the boys went to the Corral.

"Great idea, sweetheart," Sandy states as he looks for Wanda's number. "I'm sure Wanda will have an idea where Ryan is..."

Sandy's optimism quickly gets crushed as Wanda's phone immediately goes to voicemail.

"Wanda... Sandy Cohen calling. I'm... I'm looking for Ryan. He and Trey were supposed to hang out at your bar this evening." Sandy runs his hand over his face and takes in a deep breath. "Call me as soon as you get this."

"Sandy, it's past midnight. We need to call the police," Kirsten states, her voice now firm as she finds herself needing to take control.

"The police won't do anything," Sandy acknowedges, knowing how they deal with missing persons. "He has to be missing for twenty-four hours. All they'll see is a typical teenager who's staying out past his curfew."

"So what are we supposed to do?" Kirsten asks, her voice becoming shaky again as she tries to maintain her composure. "Who are you calling?"

"Jack O'Brien," Sandy states, remembering the detective's words from earlier in the day.

 _"You know you can call me anytime, day or night, if you need anything"._

"If he can't help us, no one can..."

Sandy paces around the room as he listens to the phone ring for a third time, willing the bristly detective to answer.

 _"O'Brien here... this better be good..."_

"Detective O'Brien, this is Sandy Cohen. I'm sorry to be calling you so late..."

 _"Mr. Cohen... what is it? What's wrong?"_

"It's Ryan... we can't find him."

 _"The lad is missing?"_

"He was supposed to be home by midnight... Detective, we're very worried. We're afraid something may have happened to him."

 _"All right, sit tight... I'll be over in twenty minutes..."_

* * *

"Make any sudden move and I'll slit your throat," Ramon states in a low, ominious voice as he steps behind the teenager and strategically places his knife across the front of the boy's neck. "Now walk."

Ramon guides the teenager down the hallway and opens the bedroom door, keeping the knife securely against his throat.

"Look at what I found lurkin' around the house."

"Dammit, Ry... I told you to wait in the car!" Trey scolds as he sees Ramon holding his brother hostage.

"You know this kid?"

"Hey, Ramon... there's only nine-hundred eighty bucks here," Alonzo reports, gathering up the cash.

"You tryin' to rip me off, Atwood?" Ramon asks in a threatening tone of voice. "I said two grand!"

"Trey, what's going on?" Ryan asks, taking a chance to speak. "What is he talking about?"

Ryan quickly silences himself when he feels the cold, sharp blade dig into his throat.

"I can getcha the rest, Ramon... I just need a little more time," Trey says, hoping the man will be reasonable. "Just... don't hurt my brother."

"Su hermano, eh?" Ramon says with a wicked grin as he wraps his arm tightly around the front of Ryan's chest and squeezes firmly.

Ryan tries to swallow but his throat is bone dry. He feels Ramon's hot breath on his neck as the man leans in close to him.

"Amas a tu hermano, si?"

"Si, Ramon... I love my brother, so please... just let him go. He's just a kid..."

"Here's what's going to happen," Ramon states as he relinquishes part of his hold and slowly draws the serrated blade down Ryan's chest. "I'm going to hold onto this muchacho while you get me the rest of my money..."

Ryan glances downwards and watches as Ramon slowly grazes the sharp blade over his chest, drawing blood as it cuts through parts of his blue Henley shirt.

"Ramon, come on... he's got nothin' to do with this," Trey pleads, looking helplessly at his brother and noting the fear in his eyes.

"You have until sunrise," Ramon continues, uninterested in the young man's plea as he runs the knife across Ryan's abdomen. "If I don't get my money by sunrise, I will gut this boy like a pig."

"Come on, Ramon... please! You can't do this! I'll get ya the money... I promise!"

"Time is ticking, amigo," Ramon says as he moves the knife slowly back up and places it against Ryan's throat. "You know what I'm capable of, si? If I don't get the rest of my money by morning, I will hurt him. You go to the cops... I will kill him. Entiendes?"

Ryan feels his heart beating out of his chest as anxiety courses through him. He doesn't dare move for fear the man may actually slit his throat.

"I'll get the rest of your fuckin' money," Trey says, knowing there's little use in arguing with the man. "Just don't hurt my brother..."

Trey starts to leave the room, then stops and turns to look at Ryan.

"I'm sorry, Ry... I fucked up again..."


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **Thanks so much for the feedback and reviews. I appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Five

"Move."

Ryan immediately obeys the brusque command and walks into the kitchen with Ramon following closely behind him. He feels the man's large hand firmly grasp, then slowly squeeze his shoulder as the cold, sharp blade of the knife is held against his throat.

"Take off your jacket..."

Ryan starts to ask "why" but then quickly stops himself, deciding it would be in his best interest to just do as he's told.

"This is a fine leather jacket, amigo," Ramon says, relinquishing his hold on the boy as he admires the expensive-looking garment. "I have a cousin, Marco, who's about your size. I think he'll like this..."

Ryan watches with a heavy heart as Ramon tosses the jacket Kirsten bought for him across the filthy kitchen table; missing the greasy, leftover pepperoni pizza by mere inches.

"Now sit."

Ryan immediately sits down on the old vinyl kitchen chair and continues to remain silent, knowing the consequences when one asks too many questions.

"Alonzo... tie him up."

Alonzo takes out a long strand of hemp rope cord out of the kitchen drawer, then proceeds to bind Ryan's hands behind the back of the chair. Ryan quickly comes to the conclusion the young man has performed this task before as Alonzo effortlessly weaves the restraint through the metal slats and secures the cord tightly around his wrists.

Ramon pulls a chair up and sits down in front of Ryan, making sure the boy has a clear view of his sharp, serrated hunting knife.

"I knew this guy once... he owed me some money," Ramon says in a cool, calm voice as he twirls the knife in his hands, reminiscing about a past experience. "I gave him a deadline, you know? But, he just wouldn't pay up..."

Ryan looks at the man sitting across from him with jet-black hair and goatee to match; a man not much older than his own brother. He notices an ugly scar running down his left cheek and eyes as black as night; ice cold and devoid of emotion.

"El no escucha... he just wouldn't listen," Ramon says as he leans in towards Ryan and slowly grazes the tip of the knife down the boy's left temple. "So... I cut off his ears."

Perspiration drips down Ryan's forehead as he watches a sadistic grin slowly emerge across the man's face. He blinks a few times as the salty fluid runs into his eyes, wishing he could use his hands to wipe the sweat away.

"Then there was this other guy... I caught him in bed with my woman," Ramon says, shaking his head in disapproval as he slowly moves the blade down to Ryan's thigh and meticulously presses the sharp tip through the boy's jeans; just enough to draw blood. "I don't think I need to tell you what I did to him..."

Ryan swallows and glances down at his leg, watching as the sanguine fluid slowly oozes into the fabric of his jeans.

Ramon leans back in his chair and places the bloodied knife across his lap, then methodically lights up a cigarette.

"For your sake, muchacho," Ramon utters nonchalantly as he exhales the acrid smoke through his nostils. "Let's hope your brother listens..."

* * *

Trey fumbles through his jacket pockets looking for the key to Martie's apartment. His hands shake uncontrollably as he unlocks the door, wondering what could be happening to his brother.

"Hey sweetie, come'n join me," Martie says, offering Trey a line of coke as she watches him storm into the bedroom.

"Maybe later," Trey replies as he frantically rummages through the closet in search for something. "Do you still got that piece?"

"Yeah, it's in the top drawer of my dresser," Martie replies as she effortlessly inhales the white powdery substance through her left nostril; her long, dishwater blond hair falling over her face in a tangled mess.

Trey immediately goes over to the dresser and finds a Smith and Wesson 357 Magnum revolver nestled between some lingerie.

"Is it loaded?" Trey asks, not bothering to check the cylinder as he tucks the gun into the waistband of his pants.

"Of course, it's loaded. What's the point of havin' a fuckin' gun if it ain't loaded," Martie spits out as she follows Trey into the kitchen, wondering why her boyfriend is acting so strange.

Trey grabs the large phone book off the top of the refrigerator, then lights up a cigarette to calm his nerves.

"Who ya callin', baby?" Martie asks, somewhat puzzled as she watches Trey frantically flip through the pages of the telephone book.

"None of your business," Trey replies as he scans down the page for the number of the Chino Valley Medical Center. "Go back to the bedroom... I don't want you gettin' involved in this."

"Fine... be a jerk," Martie mumbles to herself as she saunters back to the bedroom to do another line of coke.

Trey waits for Martie to leave, then uses her phone in the kitchen to call the hospital emergency room.

 _"Chino Valley Medical Center Emergency Department... how may I help you?"_

"Yeah... uh... I need to speak with Dr. Anne Morrison," Trey stutters as he mentally begins to put a plan together. "She works in the ER..."

 _"Dr. Morrison hasn't arrived yet, but she's been called in to cover for another doctor who has been taken ill. She should be here within the hour. Can I take a message?"_

Trey immediately hangs up the phone and leaves Martie's apartment, slamming the door behind him.

 _I can do this..._ Trey thinks to himself as he walks briskly to his car, hoping his plan will work. _If there's one person on this planet who will help Ryan, it's the good doctor..._

* * *

"Detective O'Brien, please come in," Sandy says, greeting the tired, disheveled man standing in the doorway. "My family and I appreciate you coming out here in the middle of the night."

"Not a problem, Mr. Cohen," Jack says as he steps into the immaculate foyer. "Now what's this about the lad... you don't know where he is?"

"I'll make a long story short, Detective. Ryan and my son, Seth, had plans to go out this evening to shoot some pool at the Corral in Chino..."

"That's Wanda Everly's bar, correct?" Jack interrupts as he takes out his pen and notepad to jot down the information.

"That's correct," Sandy states as he guides the detective into the kitchen. "But Seth ended up staying home, so Ryan went alone with his brother, Trey."

"I thought Trey was in prison," Jack questions as he graciously accepts a cup of strong, hot coffee from Kirsten.

"He was released a couple of months ago," Sandy explains as he helps himself to a cup, knowing it's going to be a long night.

"Okay, so Ryan and Trey went to the Corral..."

"Well, maybe... but then again... maybe not," Seth mutters, looking down at the breakfast bar and wishing life was a video game. Then he could press "load" and go back to earlier in the evening and never agree with Trey's plan.

"What do you mean 'maybe not'," Sandy states firmly, knowing he probably isn't going to like what he hears.

"After you guys left for the fundraiser, Trey called me," Seth says as he sits down on the barstool, realizing the mistake he made agreeing to stay home. "Ryan was still in the shower..."

"What did Trey want?" Kirsten asks with apprehension.

"Trey told me he wanted to hook Ryan up with some woman named Cyndie."

"Oh my god..." Kirsten gasps softly as she places her hand over her mouth.

Sandy takes in a deep breath and sighs, determined to stay calm. "Go on..."

"I didn't want to be a 'third wheel' Dad... I just wanted to... I don't know..."

"Why in the world would you allow Trey to hook Ryan up with a total stranger!"

"Well, I don't know, Dad... I thought I was doing the right thing!" Seth cries out, knowing he's let his parents down. "It's not like Ryan's a virgin, you know. The guy has been around the block a few times..."

"I don't care if he's been around the entire country! You were supposed to stay with Ryan tonight and keep him safe!"

"Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that! You could have told me you needed me to stay with him... you should have told me you don't trust his brother!" Seth wails with anger and confusion, but feeling helpless at the same time. "I can't read your mind, you know. I feel like I'm always being left in the dark!"

Sandy notices the tears quickly well up in his son's eyes as he listens to the desperation in his voice.

"I don't know everything that Ryan has been through. No one will tell me! I know he's struggling, but he doesn't talk! And, I understand the doctor/patient privilege... privacy stuff, but still... All I know is that Grandpa may have given Frank money to take Ryan away from us, then his father left him in some abandoned... godforsaken, rat-infested warehouse and he... and he almost died!"

"Please, you all need to calm down," Jack interjects, knowing that nothing can be accomplished when emotions run amok. "Mr. and Mrs. Cohen, may I?"

"Of course," Sandy says as he and Kirsten take a step back, allowing the detective to speak with their son.

Jack sits down at the breakfast bar next to Seth and takes another welcome sip of his coffee.

"All right, you said Trey was planning on fixing Ryan up with someone named Cyndie," Jack restates, wanting to make sure he has his facts straight.

"Yeah..."

"And, what was Trey going to do?"

"He was going to hook up with his girlfriend," Seth replies, finding it much easier to talk with the detective than to his own parents... at least for the time being.

"Do you know the girlfriend's name?"

"I think he said her name was Marcie or Margie... something like that."

"Did you get a last name?" Jack asks out of habit, but knowing what the answer probably will be.

"No, sorry..."

"It's alright," Jack quickly reassures, remembering what it was like being a teenager himself and understanding how something like this could happen.

"Mom... Dad... I'm sorry," Seth apologizes earnestly as he looks at his distraught parents. "If anything has happened to Ryan, it'll be all my fault."

"No," Sandy states emphatically, not wanting his son to tear himself up over something that's out of his control. "If anything has happened to Ryan, I assure you... it will most likely be Trey's fault."

"Mr. Cohen, you called Trey... is this correct?" Jack asks as he diligently takes notes.

"I called his apartment and left a message," Sandy replies. "I know Trey has a cell phone he uses for work, but I don't know the number."

"And you also tried Ms. Everly?"

"I left a message on Wanda's cell phone. The number I called for the Corral also went straight to voicemail."

Jack scratches his head and sighs, then finishes off the rest of his coffee.

"Where does Trey live?"

"He has an apartment in Chino," Sandy replies as he jots down the address for the detective.

"All right, you folks sit tight while I go over to Trey's. Even though no one answered the phone, it doesn't mean they're not there," Jack says, glancing over at the kitchen clock and noting it's already half past midnight. "And, if no one's at the apartment, I'll run over to the Corral. Maybe the bar will still be open."

"I'm coming with you," Sandy states as he quickly finishes the rest of his coffee and places the cup in the sink.

"Mr. Cohen, I think you should stay..."

"I'm coming with," Sandy interrupts, refusing to take "no" for an answer. "I know I can be of help."

Jack looks intently at the determined man standing before him and carefully ponders the offer. With Kathryn handling matters down in Mexico, he knows that when it comes to detective work, two heads are always better than one.

"Very well... since I'm looking into the lad's whereabouts strictly in an unofficial capacity, I see no harm in you accompanying me, Mr. Cohen."

"What can I do?" Kirsten asks, wanting... needing to be of help.

"I need you and your son to start calling all of the hospitals between here and Chino," Jack says, happy for the assistance. "Maybe they were in an accident... we don't know. Just make sure to use the lad's cell phone. We need to keep your home phone and cell phone lines open in case he tries to call."

"Of course," Kirsten states as she grabs the phone book from the kitchen cabinet, anxious to begin calling the area hospitals.

"And if you hear anything, call my cell," Jack states as he jots down his cell phone number for Kirsten. "We also need to keep your husband's line open in case the lad tries to call him."

Jack takes a step back and observes the frantic, worried-sick family. "Mr. and Mrs. Cohen, with what Seth has told us, there's a very good chance the lad has just committed the offense of being a typical teenager and has missed his curfew..."

"But, why wouldn't he call us?" Kirsten asks, knowing Ryan wouldn't want them to worry.

"Maybe he is at Trey's and he just fell asleep, honey," Sandy says as he gives his wife a quick hug before he leaves.

"I can't believe I'm hoping you find Ryan at Trey's apartment, doing something he's not supposed to be doing so we can ground him until the end of the year," Kirsten says with a shaky voice, wondering if the boy is just being a typical teenager, with the help of his older brother.

"Mr. Cohen, grab your jacket and whatever else you think you'll need," Jack says, wanting to get to Trey's as soon as possible. "It's going to be a long night."

Sandy places his hand on Seth's shoulder and looks at his son intently. "Help your mother... we'll talk about what happened earlier when I get back."

Seth looks down at the floor, then back up at his father and sighs. "You have my permission to ground me until I'm eighteen, but just please... find Ryan."

Sandy gives his son's shoulder a gentle squeeze, then walks over to Kirsten and gives her another hug along with a small smile of reassurance. "We'll find him, sweetheart. I promise."

"I know Ryan," Kirsten whispers softly to her husband. "He would call us if he was going to be late..."

 _I know Ryan would have called us..._

* * *

Anne Morrison gets out of her car and walks briskly towards the elevators, listening to her steps echo through the eerily vacant parking garage. This isn't the first time she's been called in to cover for a collegue who's been taken ill, and she knows it won't be the last. At the age of forty-seven and with no spouse or children of her own, she's made it a point to be available in emergencies or when the ER finds itself short on personnel.

Anne slows down her walking pace when she hears a car approaching from behind. She steps over to the side to allow the vehicle to pass, only to become confused when the car pulls up next to her and stops.

"Dr. Morrison?"

Anne hears her name and leans in through the open window on the passenger side of the car.

"Yes? Can I help you?" Anne asks, assuming the driver is just lost and in need of directions. Anne looks at the young man and can't help feeling she's seen him before. "Do I know you? You look familiar..."

"I'm Trey Atwood... Ryan's brother."

"Trey, I thought you looked familiar," Anne says, remembering the young man from when he came to the hospital to visit his brother in the ICU.

"Get in."

Anne suddenly gasps when Trey pulls out a gun from the inside of his jeans jacket and points the muzzle directly towards her.

"Trey, what's going on?"

"Please, just get in the car."

"Not until you tell me what's going on!"

"Please, Dr. Morrison... I need... Ryan needs your help!" Trey pleads as he continues to point the gun at the now confused and frightened woman.

"Ryan? What about Ryan?" Anne asks as she obeys Trey's order and gets into the car. "Is he hurt?"

"Not yet. I owe this guy, Ramon, a little over a thousand bucks... thousand twenty to be exact," Trey explains, hoping the woman will help him. "If I don't come up with the cash by sunrise, he'll hurt Ry... and I mean, hurt him bad."

"Why don't you go to the police?"

"I can't!" Trey exclaims, becoming impatient. "If I go to the cops, Ramon will kill him!"

Trey glances frantically around the empty parking garage, then looks back at Anne. "Please, could you just lend me the money? I'll pay you back eventually..."

"I don't care about the money," Anne says, wondering how Ryan could have gotten involved in this latest mess. "I only care about your brother."

"Then you'll help?"

"There's a bank a couple of blocks away on Riverside Drive with an ATM machine outside. I can withdraw the money from there."

"Thank you, Dr. Morrison," Trey says as he puts the car in "drive" and heads towards the parking garage exit.

Anne glances over at Trey and notices the gun in his left hand still pointed in her direction. "Trey, please put the gun away. I will help you."

Trey relaxes a bit and rests the gun on his lap, but keeps the firearm securely in his hand.

"So this 'Ramon' person... why do you owe him money?" Anne asks, wanting to find out everything she can now that she's involved.

"It's a long story... I really don't wanna get into it."

Anne sighs and decides not to press for more information as she tries to keep her wits about her and remain calm... an attribute she acquired from years of working as an Emergency Room physician.

"It's right up here... on the right," Anne says, pointing to the ATM machine next to the bank.

Trey pulls up alongside the curb, but keeps the car running.

"Leave your purse here."

"All right, but I need my debit card," Anne says as she carefully opens her purse and removes the plastic card from her wallet.

Anne gets out of the car and walks up to the brightly-lit ATM machine. She glances back at the car and sees Trey watching her closely, then proceeds to withdraw the cash from her account. She takes in a deep breath and returns to the car, readying herself for an inevitable confontation.

"All right, give me the money," Trey orders as he holds out his hand to take the cash. "Then get out of the car."

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'," Trey says, slightly irritated as he again points the gun at Anne. "I said give me the money!"

"Take me to Ryan first... then you'll get the money," Anne states as she places the wad of cash in the pocket of her suit jacket.

"Are you crazy? I ain't takin' you to Ramon's!"

"I'll give you the money as soon as I know Ryan is safe," Anne says calmly as she glances down at the gun and then back at Trey. "Of course, you can always shoot me... but I don't think you will."

Trey curses under his breath, not liking how this particular event is unfolding.

"Time's ticking, Trey," Anne states as she glances at the car clock and notes it's close to one in the morning.

Trey runs his hand over his sweat-soaked face and lets out a deep sigh. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Anne states firmly as she looks Trey straight in the eye. "Take me to Ryan... then you'll get your money."


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **In this chapter and most likely subsequent ones, the scenarios I'm writing are happening simultaneously. Of course, Jack and Sandy are a step or two behind. I've gotten the impression from many of the reviews I've received that readers want Ryan to suffer a "wee" bit more before this is all over. ;-)**

 **Also, I haven't forgotten about Caleb. It's still the middle of the night (early Saturday morning) so he's blissfully sound asleep. He's probably the only character in my story right now who's getting a good night sleep.**

 **Thanks so much for the feedback and reviews. I truly appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Six

Ryan glances around the kitchen, feeling a sense of relief that Ramon has left the room... at least for the time being. He breathes in the stale air and notes the oppressive silence as he looks over at Alonzo biting into a piece of cold, leftover pepperoni pizza while casually leafing through the latest edition of "Guns & Ammo" magazine.

 _How in the world can he eat?_ Ryan asks himself, wondering how anyone could possibly find themselves hungry while surrounded by so much filth.

Realizing his arms have become numb from the tight bindings, Ryan shifts his weight slightly in the chair and tries to move his limbs. Suddenly, he feels something sharp gouge his wrist and quickly grits his teeth against the pain.

Alonzo briefly looks up at Ryan, then returns his attention back to his beloved gun magazine. Ryan slowly slouches down and begins to rub the thick, cotton cord along the sharp edge of the chair, hoping his movement won't attract attention. He glances up at the clock and sees it's close to half past one.

 _How the hell is Trey going to come up with a grand by sunrise,_ Ryan thinks to himself as he continues to carefully rub the thick rope along the sharp edge, wincing occasionally when he accidently cuts into his wrists.

Ryan suddenly jumps in his chair, becoming startled when he hears a sharp, snapping sound behind him.

"Finally! I've been trying to catch this little critter for days!" Alonzo announces as he proudly holds up the mouse trap with the tiny victim securely in place, dangling by its neck.

Ryan takes in a deep breath as he feels a wave of anxiety course through him, finding himself unnerved over the abrupt noise that shattered the silence in the room.

"Es solo un raton... it's just a mouse, muchacho," Alonzo says as he tosses the lifeless carcass into the trash, then returns to finish his meal.

Ryan shuts his eyes and quickly swallows back the nausea rising within him as his heart pounds mercilessly inside his chest.

 _It's just a panic attack,_ Ryan tells himself as he again glances up at the clock and then lowers his head, finding himself exhausted from the long day and even longer night.

 _Please, Trey... you have to come through for me,_ Ryan implores to himself, wondering if his brother will be able to appease his captors. _I'm scared, Trey... I don't want to die here._

* * *

"Well, that was a bust," Jack states with frustration as he runs his hand over his day-old stubble, hoping both boys would have been at Trey's apartment with the two women.

"Maybe they're at Trey's girlfriend's," Sandy offers as he gets back into the sedan with the detective, wondering what their next step should be.

"Maybe... but we don't know her name," Jack says as he starts the car up and heads back out towards the freeway. "It's almost one-thirty... maybe we can catch Ms. Everly before she closes up shop."

Jack glances over at Sandy and notices the worry etched on the man's face as the bright street lights cast a glare across the bug-covered windshield. "Talk to me, Mr. Cohen... what's on your mind?"

"It's just that..." Sandy sighs as he tries to put his thoughts together. "It's just that even if Ryan is with this 'Cyndie' person, my wife is right. Ryan would call us to let us know he would be late."

"Well, you did mention to your wife that maybe the lad just fell asleep," Jack states as he merges onto the freeway, surprised by the number of cars on the road at such a late hour.

"It doesn't matter... there's always a phone. Trey knows Ryan's curfew is midnight. If the kid did fall asleep, why hasn't Trey called us?" Sandy asks, not understanding why he hasn't heard from either boy. "If Ryan is with his brother, then he could use Trey's cell phone. If he's at some girl's apartment, he could use her phone. If he's at a motel, he could use..."

Jack quickly looks over at Sandy, noting how the distraught man diligently fights to maintain his composure.

"My wife is right, Detective. Ryan would call us... no matter what."

"I take it you don't believe the lad is being just your typical teenager and staying out past his curfew," Jack states as he exits the freeway and heads towards the Corral.

"Ryan has had no problems with our rules. In fact, I believe he respects and appreciates them," Sandy says as he gazes out the passenger side window, wondering what in the world could have happened that has kept the boy from calling them.

"What the hell?" Jack mildly curses as he pulls into the bar's parking lot, looking at the squad cars and ambulance with their lights flashing, blocking his path.

"Mr. Cohen, let me do the talking," Jack instructs as he and Sandy get out of the car and start walking towards the bar.

"Officer, I'm Detective O'Brien," Jack states with authority as he quickly flashes his badge at the young rookie. "What happened here?"

"Bar fight... major one," the young officer replies, happy to be of some assistance besides standing around performing guard duty.

"Anyone hurt?" Jack asks, knowing what Sandy must be thinking... that Ryan hasn't called because he's been injured in a fight.

"Couple of guys were taken to the ER with broken bones and concussions, but the majority are being treated here for minor injuries. The bar owner is inside..."

"All right... good work, officer," Jack compliments, remembering what it was like being the low man on the totem pole.

Jack and Sandy make their way into the trashed bar, both anxious to talk with Wanda.

"Sandy? What in the world are you doin' here?" Wanda asks, confused to see the man walking into her bar so late at night.

"I'm looking for Ryan," Sandy replies as he steps over broken pieces of glass and around overturned tables and chairs to make his way to the exasperated bartender. "This is Detective O'Brien..."

"Yes, I remember," Wanda states as she shakes Jack's hand after giving Sandy a quick hug. "Detective, I think you're a little out of your jurisdiction. The Chino police are handlin' this fiasco."

"Mr. Cohen and I are just looking for Ryan," Jack explains, not wanting to step on anyone's toes in the Chino PD. "Was the lad here tonight with his brother?"

"Yeah... Ryan and Trey were here," Wanda replies.

"Was he... was Ryan involved in the fight?" Sandy asks, cringing at his words. It seems like an eternity since the boy has been involved in a fistfight; but if he was involved, Sandy can only assume it was for a good reason.

"Oh, heaven's no!" Wanda assures, realizing the man thinks the boy has been injured. "I remember seein' Trey pullin' Ryan through the mayhem towards the exit. It was actually nice to see Trey protectin' his younger brother and keepin' him from gettin' hurt."

"Do you happen to remember what time they left?" Jack asks as he takes out his notepad and pen to write down the information.

"Let me see... maybe ten-thirtyish... quarter to eleven..."

"Were they with anyone else this evening?" Jack asks, slipping into "detective-mode" as he becomes more and more concerned about the missing boy. "Maybe a couple of lady friends?"

"Lady friends?" Wanda repeats, trying not the laugh at the Irishman's use of the polite term. "For one thing, I don't believe Trey knows any 'ladies'; but to answer your question... no. To my knowledge, they weren't with any 'lady friends'."

"Do you happen to know Trey's girlfriend's name?" Jack asks, hoping for anything that could offer a lead. "Margie or Marcie..."

"Martie Jensen... ugh..."

"What... what do you mean 'ugh'," Sandy pipes in, not liking Wanda's description of the woman.

"Well, let me see... where should I begin," Wanda states as she leans against the bar and folds her arms across her chest. "Trey met Martie... or I should say, Martina, which is her real name, a couple of years ago. She makes decent money twirlin' her tush around a shiny, brass pole at some strip joint in Pomona. Of course, most of the money she earns goes straight up her nose."

Sandy winces as he prays Trey hasn't taken his sixteen-year-old brother to meet a couple of strippers who have the habit of partaking in illicit drugs.

"I really hoped Trey had stopped seein' her," Wanda continues, remembering meeting the woman a couple of times and just not liking her. "I always felt that she was the one who introduced Trey to hard drugs. When he met Martie, he changed. Drugs will do that to a person..."

"Do you happen to know where she lives?" Jack asks, noticing the pained expression on Sandy's face.

"Last I heard, she lives in Chino..."

"Wanda! Can you come in here!" Billy shouts out from inside the office.

"I'm busy right now!" Wanda yells back.

"Boss! You really need to come in here!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake... what now," Wanda grouses under her breath as she starts walking towards her office.

Jack and Sandy follow Wanda into the back office, both wondering what the employee is being so "up in arms" about.

"What is it, Billy?"

"Boss, we've been robbed," Billy states with a grim look on his face as he stands next to the open safe.

"Say, what?" Wanda asks, not believing what she's hearing. Wanda peers into the safe and sees all the cash is missing. "For God's sake, can this night get any worse?"

"All right, please... I don't want any of you touching anything," Jack orders as he puts on the pair of rubber gloves he keeps in his jacket pocket. "It's Billy, right?"

"Yes, sir," Billy acknowledges as he nods his head "yes".

"Go out to the bar, grab an officer and bring him back here," Jack orders. "The Corral is now officially a crime scene."

* * *

"What do you think, muchacho," Ramon utters in a low, ominous voice as he slowly circles around Ryan's chair, observing the quiet boy. "Do you think your brother will come up with my money in time?"

Ryan watches the man out of the corner of his eye, unable to shake the feeling that Ramon is a hungry lion and he's the injured prey being relentlessly stalked.

"No hablar mucho... you don't talk much, do you," Ramon says, observing the obvious. "Not at all like your brother."

Ryan feels the sticky, coagulated blood from his gouged wrists coating his hands and fingers, and hopes the man doesn't notice the frayed bindings he's been working so hard to cut through.

Ramon stops circling around Ryan and stands behind his chair. He leans down close enough so he can speak directly into the boy's ear.

"Your brother has a habit of talking too much, but not just talking... he also lies. And, I don't like it when people lie to me," Ramon states cooly as he runs the sharp tip of his knife across Ryan's left cheek before resting the serrated blade upon the boy's closed lips. "If he lies to me again... I will cut out your tongue."

A sudden knock at the front door interrupts Ramon's grim lecture.

"Alonzo, see who it is."

"Si, Ramon," Alonzo says as he leaves the kitchen to answer the door.

Ryan closes his eyes and winces, feeling Ramon's hot breath on his neck as the man slowly moves the knife away from his lips.

"Mejor ser Trey con mi dinero," Ramon whispers ominously in Ryan's ear as he firmly squeezes the boy's tense shoulder. "That better be your brother with my money..."

* * *

Jack kneels down on the floor and glances in and around the safe. He then makes his way over to the side exit and notes that the door is locked.

"Who, besides you, knows the combination to the safe?" Jack asks Wanda.

"Just me 'n Billy..."

"Is there any chance Billy may have helped himself to a little extra cash tonight?"

"No way," Wanda states emphatically. "I trust Billy one-hundred percent."

"Was there anyone else who had access to the safe this evening?"

"Oh no..."

"What do you mean 'oh no'," Jack asks, hoping Wanda will elaborate.

"Trey... damn it all," Wanda curses, feeling like she's just been used.

"Trey? He was here in your off..."

"Sir, we can handle things from here," a police officer abruptly interrupts, wanting to establish that he's in charge.

Jack turns around and sees an officer from the Chino PD step into the office and comes to the conclusion he has probably just stepped on some touchy toes.

"Officer, I'm Detective O'Brien from the Newport Be..."

"Like I said, Detective... we're handling this," the officer states gruffly, not appreciating the outsider in his jurisdiction.

"I'm working a 'missing person' case and there's a chance this robbery may be connected," Jack explains, understanding the officer's desire to protect his territory.

Sandy's heart skips a beat when he hears the detective utter the words "missing person".

"I'll get out of your hair shortly, but I just need to ask Ms. Everly a few more questions," Jack states, feeling that a missing person is much more important than some missing money.

"Fine, but don't touch anything," the officer relents. "Forensics are on their way here."

"Ms. Everly, you were saying something about Trey?" Jack asks as he guides both Wanda and Sandy away from the safe, not wanting to risk corrupting any possible evidence.

"Trey wanted to borrow a hundred bucks," Wanda says as she goes back over in her head everything that happened just a few hours ago.

"Did he say why he needed the money?" Jack asks as he diligently takes notes.

"He wanted to buy Ryan a birthday present... a watch he found on sale," Wanda replies, wondering if that was just a lie. "I agreed to lend him the money. We came back in here and I opened the safe."

"What happened next?"

"After I gave Trey the money, Billy yelled out that a fight had erupted in the bar," Wanda continues.

"What time was this?"

"A little after ten... I think."

"Then what did you do?"

"I left to go help Billy control the scene. He called the cops... it was total chaos."

"Maybe it wasn't Trey... maybe with all the commotion going on, someone came in here during the fight and stole the money," Sandy proposes, offering up another scenario as he hopes and prays Trey isn't involved.

"Ah, I see you're already getting the hang of detective work," Jack says, appreciating the input. "I agree with you... it could have been anyone. But for now, Trey is our best bet."

Sandy sighs and runs his hand through his thick hair, knowing the detective is right.

"How much cash do you think you had in the safe?"

"I don't know... maybe a grand," Wanda replies as she rubs her forehead, feeling a headache slowly emerging.

"Did you close the safe before you left your office?" Jack asks, continuing his investigation.

"I think so... I... I don't remember..."

"Ms. Everly, do you know of any reason why Trey would steal from you?"

"If you asked me that question a couple of years ago, I would've said 'drugs'," Wanda says, wondering if the young man is using again. "But I know that after Trey got out of prison, he's been workin' hard and lookin' to the future. He wants to earn his GED and go to the Technical College here in Chino. He wants to become a mechanic... like Eddie."

"Eddie?" Jack asks, quickly scribbling down the name.

"Trey's best friend. He's here tonight if you wanna talk to him," Wanda says, nodding her head towards the bar. "Some are sayin' Eddie's the one who started the fight."

"Do you think Eddie would start a fight?" Jack asks, becoming more and more intrigued with the timing of the ruckus and the theft.

"Eddie's one of the good guys... honest and hardworking," Wanda says without hesitation. "But, he's got a temper... he can be a hothead."

"All right, here's my card," Jack states as he hands Wanda his contact information. "Call me if you remember anything else."

Wanda takes the card from the detective and places it in her pocket.

"I think I've told you all that I know," Wanda says as she runs her hand over her face and sighs, concerned with the fact that Ryan has suddenly gone missing.

"Ms. Everly, the lad has sought you out in the past... he may do so again," Jack says in his most comforting tone of voice, wishing Kathryn was here as he notices the woman become visibly upset. His partner always dealt with the "people" while he happily handled the "cold hard facts".

Wanda feels some stray tears sting her eyes as she glances over at the couch; remembering the night the boy showed up at her bar, injured and in a state of shock.

"I don't care about the money, Detective," Wanda states as she struggles to stay in control of her emotions. "I only care about Ryan. Please find him..."

"I'll find the lad," Jack assures, making this case his number one priority. "I give you my word."

* * *

"So what, amigo... you scared so you brought your mama with you?" Alonzo asks sarcastically as he opens the front door and sees Trey standing next to an older woman.

"Ha, ha... very funny," Trey snaps back as he steps into the house with Anne. "Hey! What the hell!"

"Sorry, man... Ramon doesn't trust you," Alonzo says as he begins patting down Trey, making sure he's not carrying a weapon. "Oh... tsk, tsk... lookie what I found."

Alonzo removes the small handgun from the waistband of Trey's pants, then glances over at Anne.

"I don't have a weapon," Anne immediately states as she lifts her suit jacket up and slowly turns around. "I'm a doctor. I help people... not hurt them."

"Un medico, eh... maybe you can give me a physical later," Alonzo says with a mischievous grin as he ushers Trey and Anne into the kitchen. "It's been awhile since I've played 'doctor'."

"Who the hell is this?" Ramon asks, irritated that Trey has brought someone with him. "You better have my money..."

"Trey, what's going on? How could you bring her here!" Ryan shouts angrily, upset his brother has placed the doctor in harm's way.

"It's okay, Ryan... I'm just here to help," Anne replies, noticing the boy is visibly upset.

Anne takes the money out of her pocket and hands it to Ramon. "This is the rest of what Trey owes you."

Ramon takes the money and quickly fans through it, then places it in his pocket, satisfied with the payment.

"It's all there, Ramon... now untie my brother," Trey orders, wanting this ordeal to be over. "We're done here..."

"No."

"No? What the hell do you mean 'no'!" Trey yells as he begins to lose his patience. "You got your fuckin' money! Now give me my brother!"

"You, sit," Ramon instructs, pointing at Anne. "Alonzo, tie her up."

"Don't hurt her!" Ryan pleads, frantically pulling on his bindings as he helplessly watches Alonzo tie the woman's hands to the back of the chair. "Let her go!"

Ryan suddenly feels a surge of pain as Ramon grabs the hair on top of his head and violently yanks his head back.

"I like you better when you don't talk," Ramon states calmly, hovering over the boy from behind the chair as he continues to hold Ryan's head back while placing his other hand around the boy's throat.

Ryan stares up at Ramon, then suddenly sees his father looming over him. He desperately tries to breathe as he feels the man's large grip tighten around his throat.

"Stop it, Ramon!" Trey shouts as tears of anger fill his eyes. "Stop hurting my brother!"

"When I want you to talk, I'll tell you to talk," Ramon tells Ryan, intentionally ignoring Trey's plea as he gives one last squeeze before relinquishing his grip around the boy's throat. "Entiendes?"

Ryan blinks a few times as he tries to clear the confusion in his mind, not sure of the person he's really seeing.

 _He's not here,_ Ryan tries to convince himself as the ominous figure hovering over him goes in and out of focus. _He's dead..._ _my father is dead..._

Ryan blinks again and sees Ramon standing over him. He takes in a welcome breath of air as the man removes his hand from around his throat.

"Why so pale, muchacho," Ramon coos as he lets go of Ryan's hair and pats him on the cheek. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Ramon, I've paid you back," Trey again reminds the man. "I don't understand..."

"Because of you, I have been very inconvenienced this evening," Ramon states as he stands behind Ryan and places both of his hands upon the boy's shoulders. "And I don't appreciate being 'inconvenienced'."

Ryan closes his eyes and tries to fight back the anxiety coursing through him as he feels the man's large hands firmly squeeze his shoulders; his fingers digging into the small crevices of his neck.

"Come on, Ramon... please..."

"There's a car I've had my eye on for awhile," Ramon continues, happy to have a captive audience. "You're going to steal it for me."

"What! Are you out of your fuckin' mind!" Trey shouts, seething with anger.

"It's a black Pontiac GTO... beautiful ride... but its owner, not so good," Ramon says, unruffled by the angry outburst. "The car is owned by someone who's trying to hone in on my territory... and I don't appreciate people taking away my customers..."

"I ain't stealin' no car, Ramon..."

"After you steal the car, you'll bring it over to Bernie at the shop," Ramon continues, ignoring Trey's defiance. "When I get the call that the job has been done, I'll release your brother and the good doctor."

Trey glares at Ramon as he feels his heart beating out of his chest, slowly seething with anger and frustration.

"Oh, and if I were you, I'd do it before sunrise," Ramon adds nonchalantly. "Less likely to get caught when it's still dark."

"I told you... I ain't stealin' no car," Trey utters through clenched teeth.

"Oh, I believe you may want to rethink that answer," Ramon states calmy as he takes his knife back out and places the cold, sharp blade against Ryan's neck.

Trey looks down at his brother and sees the fear in his eyes... a fear he's seen too many times before when they were younger and at the mercy of their sociopathic father.

"I steal this car for you and then we're done," Trey states emphatically. "You'll let my brother and Dr. Morrison go."

"Of course, amigo," Ramon states with a salacious grin. "You have my word."


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **I feel a "double thanks" is in order, due to the problems with the site over this past month and readers unable to post reviews. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Seven

Ryan jumps in his chair when he hears the front door slam as the jolting action shakes the foundation of the old, dilapidated house.

Anne glances over at Ryan and takes note of his pallor. She knows how much the boy has endured since she first met him a little over six months ago, and wonders just how fragile his mental state is.

Unable to use her hands, the doctor instinctively examines the boy with her eyes. She notices small cuts along his left cheek and temple; both superficial and most likely placed there to taunt. The redness across the front of his neck, Anne remembers, came courtesy of a hunting knife pressing into his skin; just firmly enough to leave a mark but not draw blood. Glancing further down the boy's body, Anne notices the front of his blue shirt slightly ripped open and stained with blood along with a small gash to his upper thigh.

 _No bruises... he hasn't been beaten,_ Anne thinks to herself, relieved the boy doesn't seem to have any serious injuries. _But he's definitely been cruelly toyed with..._

As Anne mentally finishes her hands-free medical assessment, she suddenly notices some blood drip down onto the stained, linoleum floor.

"Ryan, you're bleeding..." Anne says in a hushed voice, even though their captors have left the kitchen.

"I have to cut through these ropes..."

"And then what?" Anne asks, hoping the boy isn't thinking he can overpower the much larger man with an incorrigible knife fetish.

"I can't sit here and do nothing," Ryan reasons, glancing over at the doctor with deep blue, poignant eyes. "Ramon's not going to let us go... even if my brother does steal that car."

* * *

Ramon peers through a small opening of the boarded up front window, watching the angry young man get into his car.

"Guess he's a little pissed."

"He's always pissed," Alonzo remarks as he watches Trey drive away from the curb with tires screeching.

"All right, I want you to follow him," Ramon orders. "Make sure he comes through for me."

"What's going to happen to them?" Alonzo asks, nodding his head towards the kitchen. "You told Trey you would them go..."

"Si, that I did," Ramon acknowledges with a wry smile. "I did say I would let them go, but I never said they would still be breathing..."

* * *

"Are you Eddie?"

"Ouch! Watch it!" the young man spits angrily as the EMT places a butterfly stitch over the cut on his left cheekbone. "Yeah... who are you?"

"I'm Detective O'Brien and this is Sandy Cohen..."

"Sandy Cohen? THE Sandy Cohen? You're the lawyer who took Ryan in," Eddie states as he stands up and puts his shirt back on, happy the paramedic is done torturing him. "Trey talks about you all the time. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Sandy politely accepts Eddie's handshake, noting the firm grip and rough hands of a car mechanic.

"We're looking for Ryan. Trey never brought him back home this evening," Sandy states, surprised by how shaky his voice sounds.

"Well, maybe they went back to Trey's," Eddie offers, not understanding why the man is so concerned. "Ryan used to stay out all night. As far as I know, the kid never had a curfew."

"They're not at Trey's," Jack chimes in as he quickly tries to assess whether or not Eddie will be cooperative.

"Well, like I said... the kid used to stay out most nights," Eddie states as if it was normal behavior. "Didn't blame him... shit, his mother brought home all sorts of losers. Man... I remember this one guy she lived with... what was his name..."

"AJ?" Sandy offers with a pained expression on his face, remembering the condition Dawn's boyfriend left Ryan in after he made that first colossal mistake of allowing the boy to live with his mother in Chino.

"AJ... god, what an asshole! I swear he beat Ryan just for the fun of it," Eddie says, shaking his head in disapproval. "The guy's a psycho!"

"Could they have gone over the Trey's girlfriend's?" Jack asks, wanting to stay on topic.

"Martie's? I suppose..."

"Do you know where she lives?" Jack asks, hoping the young man will elaborate.

"She rents a place over at Marbella Villa on Central," Eddie replies, not appreciating all of the questions. "Listen, I got a splitting headache..."

"A lad is missing," Jack states matter-of-factly. "Your headache can wait."

Eddie sighs and sits back down, now wishing he had stayed home and watched TV.

"Do you know anyone named Cyndie?"

"Cyndie? No..."

Jack rubs his hand over the stubble on his chin, finding himself at a loss as to what could have happened to Ryan.

"Some folks here are saying you started the fight this evening."

"He's the one who threw the first punch," Eddie states in his defense as he points to a man sitting on the other side of the room.

"Hey, you provoked me... you son-of-a bitch!" the man yells back, pointing his finger directly at Eddie as a paramedic tries in vain to apply first-aid.

"You're full of shit, man!" Eddie spits back.

"Please... both of you, calm down!" Jack orders, feeling a headache coming on himself. "I don't care who started the blasted fight! I just want to know why the hell I can't find a goddamn sixteen-year-old boy!"

Silence fills the room as heads turn towards the sudden outburst, as everyone who's left in the bar stares at the flustered man.

 _God, I miss you Kat,_ Jack thinks to himself as he runs his hand through his hair and quickly tries to regroup.

"Do you happen to know why Trey would steal money from Ms. Everly?" Jack asks, having regained some of his composure.

"Trey wouldn't steal from Wanda..."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure... well... if he did steal from her, he had to have had a good reason," Eddie explains, hoping to justify his friend's alleged crime. "Trey really likes Wanda. He's always been thankful for everything she's done for Ryan. Oh, wait a minute..."

"Go on," Jack prods, hoping for some useful information.

"Earlier today, I talked to my friend, Arturo. He mentioned somethin' about Trey wanting to borrow a 'couple of grand'."

"Does your friend know why Trey needed the money?" Jack asks, intrigued with this new information.

"No, but Arturo said Trey sounded desperate," Eddie replies, recalling the conversation with his fiancee's brother. "Arturo felt really bad 'cuz he wasn't able to help."

"Did Trey ask to borrow money from you?"

"No, but he probably knew I wouldn't be able to lend him that much," Eddie reasons with the detective. "I'm savin' every penny I earn to buy an engagement ring for my fiancee. I'm gettin' hitched this summer."

"Congratulations," Jack states with forced enthusiasm, not really caring about the young man's personal affairs. "I'm sure you'll make one heck of a husband."

* * *

Alonzo watches Ramon disappear into the bathroom and recalls the man's order, knowing this is his moment to prove himself worthy. He quickly grabs his jacket out of the closet, anxious to follow Trey to make sure the car gets stolen and meets its destiny with Bernie at the chop shop. Realizing he still has Trey's handgun, Alonzo lays it on the table in the hallway.

 _I got my own piece,_ Alonzo thinks to himself as he pats his beloved Glock 9mm nestled in his coat pocket and leaves the house. _I don't need that hunk of junk..._

* * *

"Say, I'm not lookin' at doin' time, am I?" Eddie asks, realizing he may be held accountable for the damage to Wanda's bar.

"If you cooperate, I'll see what I can do," Jack replies, wondering if the man knows something more.

Eddie sighs and runs his hand over his tired face, silently cursing his best friend under his breath.

"When Trey and Ryan arrived here this evening, Trey took me aside and..."

"What did Trey want?" Jack asks with his notepad and pen at the ready.

"Trey asked me to do him a favor... shit..."

"Go on..."

"He wanted me to create a distraction... somethin' to get Wanda's attention," Eddie explains as he comes to the realization he may be held as an accomplice to a theft if his friend stole the money.

"Did you ask Trey why he needed the distraction?" Jack asks, even though he knows what the answer will be.

"No... I didn't ask," Eddie states with regret. "I was just doin' my friend a favor..."

Jack looks intently at Eddie and quickly assesses he's an honest young man; hardworking and loyal to his friends... but prone to bouts of stupidity.

"All right, here's my card," Jack states as he hands his business card to Eddie. "If you think of anything else, please call me."

"What about... well, I've cooperated, right?" Eddie asks as he accepts the business card and places it in his pocket. "Am I gonna go to jail?"

"You'll probably be looking at making some restitution to Wanda, community service and, most likely, attending anger management classes," Sandy explains, having handled many cases like this before. "I agree with Detective O'Brien... just continue to cooperate and it will work in your favor."

Eddie nods his head with understanding as he watches the two men leave the bar.

"So now what?" Sandy asks, eager to learn what their next step should be.

"Now, it's time we pay a late night visit to Martie Jensen. With any luck, the lads will be there," Jack replies as he and Sandy walk briskly back to the car. "I can arrest Trey, you can bring Ryan home and ground the lad until Christmas and we can all live happily ever after..."

* * *

Relieved Ramon hasn't returned yet, Anne peers around the kitchen and notices a door with a large padlock.

 _I wonder what's behind that door,_ Anne thinks to herself, her curiosity piqued. _I don't think it's a pantry. Why in the world would anyone need to lock up their peanut butter..._

Anne glances back at Ryan and notices the boy still trying to cut through his bindings.

"Ryan, I'm sure people are looking for us by now," Anne whispers to the determined teenager. "Sandy and Kirsten probably have the police out searching for you..."

"The police won't look for me until I've been missing for twenty-four hours," Ryan says, stating the cold, hard fact. "And Sandy and Kirsten probably don't even know I'm gone. They went out this evening... I'm sure they just went straight to bed when they got home."

"What about Seth? Wouldn't he realize..."

"Seth is sick. He most likely took a double-dose of NyQuil and will sleep until noon," Ryan interrupts, looking the doctor straight in the eye. "There's no one looking for me... nobody knows I'm gone."

"Well, I was supposed to be at work well over an hour ago," Anne says, determined to remain optimistic as she notices the boy lower his head with despondency. "My colleagues are probably starting to wonder where I am."

"Do you have a cell phone with you?" Ryan asks, thinking if he can get his hands free, he can call for help.

"No, it's in my purse," Anne sighs wearily. "And, I left my purse in your brother's car."

* * *

Jack knocks on the door and does his best to wait patiently, keeping his fingers crossed that both Trey and Ryan are with Martie.

"Maybe she's not home," Sandy suggests when no one immediately answers the door.

"It's almost three in the morning... give her a few minutes."

Suddenly, the door opens with the chain lock firmly in place as a young woman peers through the small crack.

"Are you Martie Jensen?" Jack asks with a calm voice.

"Yeah? Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Detective O'Brien with the Newport Beach Police Department and this is Sandy Cohen," Jack states as he shows the woman his ID through the narrow opening of the door.

"Uh huh... ain't interested..."

"Wait!" Jack exclaims as he stops the woman from shutting the door. "We're looking for Trey and Ryan Atwood. They wouldn't by chance be here..."

"Trey ain't here... don't know Ryan," Martie mumbles as she again tries to shut the door.

"Please, Miss Jensen... this is very important. I don't care about what you've been doing or what drug paraphernalia you may have lying around," Jack states, hoping the woman will cooperate. "I'm only interested in finding Trey and Ryan. May we come in?"

Martie lets out a long, pitiful groan, then reluctantly removes the chain and opens the door.

Jack and Sandy carefully step into the tiny apartment, noticing the surroundings in a state of complete disarray.

"Definitely not into housekeeping," Jack whispers to Sandy as the two men stand amongst strewn clothing, trash and other nondescript clutter.

"Miss Jensen, have you seen Trey recently?" Jack asks, quickly realizing the brothers are not in the apartment.

"Mmmm..."

Jack studies the woman as she teeters back and forth; her blond hair matted and messy; her eyes vacant and glassy.

"Miss Jensen, we're looking for Trey's younger brother, Ryan. The lad is missing," Jack states, trying to remain calm. "He's a minor so if you know anything..."

"D...d...don't know nothin'... don't know a Ry...Ryan..." Martie stutters as she staggers into the kitchen and grabs some matches to light up a cigarette.

"Do you have a friend named Cyndie?" Jack asks, hoping there's still a chance this is nothing more than a young man arranging for his younger brother the opportunity to get "lucky".

"No... don't know no one... no one named Cyndie..."

Jack sighs and shakes his head, knowing he's hit yet another dead end.

"All right, here's my card," Jack states, feeling that's all he's done over the past few hours is hand out his business card. "Please call me if you hear from Trey."

"Mmmmm... 'kay."

"What... that's it?" Sandy questions as he and Jack leave the apartment. "She has to know something..."

"The lass is useless to us right now. She's stoned and most likely coming down from a 'coke' high," Jack replies, explaining why it would be a waste of their time to continue questioning the woman. "There was still some white powder residue around her nostrils. We can talk to her later, hopefully when she's a bit more lucid."

"So what's our next step?

"I spotted a Denny's on our way over here," Jack says as he fumbles through his pocket for his keys. "We can discuss what to do next over a cup of coffee."

"I'd like to give my wife a quick call..."

"Yes, of course... here, use my phone. I'll wait for you in the car."

Sandy takes the cell phone and starts to call Kirsten, remembering to use Ryan's number.

 _"Hello?"_

"Hey, sweetheart... it's me."

 _"Sandy! Have you found Ryan?"_

"No, we haven't found him yet," Sandy replies, wishing he could give his wife better news. "Detective O'Brien and I are going to grab a cup of coffee and go over what we know. What about you? Anything from the hospitals?"

 _"Nothing... no one has a 'Ryan Atwood' listed as a patient..."_

"What about Trey? Have you asked about Trey?"

 _"I've only asked about Ryan..."_

"Sweetheart, you need to also inquire about Trey," Sandy states, hoping his wife will understand. "If the boys somehow got separated, Trey most likely will know what has happened."

 _"You're right... Oh, my god... I've only been asking for Ryan. I'll start calling the hospitals again and ask about Trey."_

"All right, sweetheart... call me if you find out anything," Sandy says, wishing he could be with his family but knowing he's of more use aiding the detective. "Oh, before you go... how's Seth holding up?"

 _"He's worried and he feels bad. He feels responsible..."_

"Well, we still don't know what has happened to Ryan or to Trey, for that matter," Sandy states, hoping to mask the frustration in his voice. "Seth isn't responsible for Ryan... I am. This is all on me."

 _"Find him, Sandy... please, just find him. You have to bring Ryan home."_

* * *

Trey drives aimlessly around town, trying to figure out how he's going to steal a car from Ramon's rival. Stopping at a red light, he briefly entertains the idea of calling Sandy.

 _I can't call Sandy... he'd never let me see Ryan again,_ Trey reasons to himself as he pushes the thought out of his mind. _Plus, not even Sandy Cohen would be able to keep me out of prison._ _No... I gotta steal the car, wait for Ramon to let Ryan and the doctor go, then get the hell outta town._

"I'll need to completely disappear..."

Trey sees the light turn green and proceeds to drive, still not sure what his plan will be. Suddenly, he hears the chirping of a cell phone.

 _That's not my phone,_ Trey thinks to himself as he looks around the front seat of his car.

Trey spots a purse on the passenger side seat and begins fumbling around inside for the cell phone.

"Dammit!" Trey spits out in frustration as the phone continues to chirp. "It's probably somebody wondering where Dr. Morrison is..."

Trey finally grabs the cell phone and glances down, noting it's the hospital on the caller ID. Suddenly, he hears the loud blaring of a horn and looks back up. He sees a car's headlights coming straight towards him as he realizes he's crossed over the center line. Trey immediately tries to swerve back into his lane but over-corrects and loses control of his car. Slamming on the breaks, Trey braces himself for the collision. With the sound of tires screeching, Trey instinctively covers his head with his arms, hearing the crushing metal as he feels the jarring impact of the two cars colliding.

After finally coming to a stop, Trey momentarily looks around; his mind in a sea of haze; his eyes unfocused. He notices the broken windshield; the dashboard and steering wheel splattered with blood.

 _My blood...oh God,_ Trey thinks to himself as he drifts in and out of consciousness.

"Please help," Trey pleads, hoping someone will hear him.

 _Please help my brother..._

* * *

"Cup of your strongest coffee and a slice of cherry pie," Jack says as he hands the menu back to the waitress.

"Just coffee for me," Sandy says, forcing a gracious smile to be polite.

"Comin' right up..."

Sandy sighs and runs both of his hands over his tired, beleaguered face. "Why can't it be like it is on TV... talk to a few people then voila! Case solved."

"If it was like it is on the telly, my partner would be ten years younger, blond and be able to chase down the bad guys in her three-inch heels with not a strand of hair out of place," Jack retorts, placing a napkin on his lap when the waitress returns with his pie. "And, I'd look like George Clooney."

Sandy can't help but smile at the Irishman's dry wit.

"So, what do we do now?" Sandy asks as he takes a welcome sip of his coffee. "It seems like we've hit a dead end."

"Well, until we learn otherwise, I think it's safe to assume Trey stole the money out of Ms. Everly's safe," Jack says as he goes over his notes. "And Eddie did say Trey needed money. Do you know anything about him owing someone two grand?"

"No, he never mentioned anything to me and neither has Ryan."

"If Trey needed money, would he go to you for help?"

"I don't know," Sandy sighs, shaking his head. "I've told Trey if he ever needed anything he could come to me."

"Mr. Cohen, I need to ask you this," Jack states as he dabs the corner of his mouth with his napkin, then clears his throat. "Is it at all possible the lad has run away? Maybe took off somewhere with his brother?"

"No, I don't... I don't think Ryan would run away."

"You don't sound positive."

"I know the kid's been struggling lately... having trouble sleeping, but running away? No, I just can't see it."

"Fair enough," Jack states as he mentally places that scenario on the bottom of his list. "How about Trey... would he take Ryan against his will?

"No, that's crazy... I can't think of a single reason why Trey would abduct his brother. He even told me recently how thankful he is that Kirsten and I have taken Ryan in."

"All right, how about this," Jack says as he takes a sip of his coffee. "Would Trey hurt Ryan or possibly place the lad in danger?"

"No, Trey loves his brother... he would never hurt Ryan, not on purpose anyways," Sandy states emphatically, recalling the young man's pain and anguish when he saw his brother laying in a hospital bed attached to a ventilator; struggling for his life. "But..."

"But what?"

"Trey is immature. He can be rash, compulsive... he doesn't think," Sandy elaborates, sharing what he knows about the young man's temperment. "If Ryan is in trouble or in danger, it could be because of something Trey has done."

"Well, Mr. Cohen, I'll be honest with you... I'm at a loss here. Can you think of anyone else... anyone we can talk to that could be of help."

"Dirk Kramer."

"Who?"

"Trey's P.D.," Sandy replies, wondering if any of this could be tied in with Trey's early release from prison. "I know he lives in Corona... I've got his number on my phone."

"I prefer stopping by unannounced," Jack states as he takes out a twenty to give to the waitress. "I never like giving people a heads-up... makes for more interesting encounters."

Sandy quickly finishes his coffee and offers to help with the bill.

"Nope, I've got this," Jack states, holding his hand up to stop Sandy from taking out his wallet. "And, if this 'Dirk Kramer' comes through, there's a steak dinner in your future."

Jack suddenly feels his cell phone vibrate in his jacket pocket as he and Sandy leave the restaurant.

"Hold on," Jack says, curious to see who's calling. "This is O'Brien."

 _"Detective O'Brien, it's Kirsten Cohen... I've located Trey."_

"You have? Excellent!"

 _"He's at the Chino Valley Medical Center... a car accident. That's all they would tell me."_

"Is Ryan with him?"

 _"No, just Trey... he was alone."_

"All right, sit tight, Mrs. Cohen. Your husband and I are on our way over there right now," Jack says as he starts scurrying back to the car. "We'll let you know as soon as we find out anything."

Jack ends his call and hops in the car, feeling a surge of energy from Kirsten's discovery, along with the sugar rush from the pie and the jolt of caffeine.

"Dirk Kramer will have to wait, Mr. Cohen," Jack states as he pulls out of the parking lot. "We have a date with the ER."

* * *

"What are you two in cahoots about," Ramon asks, hearing the sound of hushed voices as he walks into the kitchen.

Ryan immediately tenses up, hoping the man won't become angered and take it out on him, or worse... Dr. Morrison.

"You two sure seem to have a lot to talk about," Ramon says as he leans back against the counter and lights up a cigarette.

Ramon slowly exhales the smoke through his nostrils and looks at Anne. "I'm curious, how does a classy lady like you know a street urchin like him?"

"I only know this 'street urchin' in passing," Anne lies, not wanting the man to know her real relationship with the boy. "His brother, Trey, has been a patient of mine in the past. A number of times, actually."

A devious smile slowly emerges across Ramon's face as he bends down and stares at Anne directly in her eyes.

"You are a very bad liar."

Anne stares back into Ramon's dark eyes, refusing to flinch in his presence.

"Pero eres una mujer bonita," Ramon adds as he takes a step back and stubs out his cigarette in the already overflowing ashtray. "Even in those geeky eyeglasses."

Anne looks over at Ryan, hoping for a simple translation.

"He says you're pretty," Ryan says quietly, having a fairly decent grasp of the language.

"Muchacho inteligente..."

Ryan looks down at the floor and squeezes his eyes shut, willing the man to leave the room so he can continue to cut through his restraints.

"There is a history between you two, si? Anything you'd like to share?"

Ramon suddenly feels his cell phone vibrate in his back pocket and takes it out to answer, noticing it's Alonzo on his caller ID.

"Que tienes para mi..."

 _"Trey was in a car accident. Doesn't look good... the ambulance took him to the hospital."_

"Car accident, eh?" Ramon says, looking over at Ryan when he notices the boy suddenly perk up.

 _"I can steal the car, Ramon..."_

"That's what I like to hear... ambition and loyalty will get you far, amigo," Ramon states, pleased with his young protege. "Make sure the job gets done... I'm counting on you. Then take a few days off and spend it with your family. You deserve it."

 _"What about Trey... if he survived, he might talk."_

"He won't talk as long as I have his precious little brother," Ramon states as he nods at Ryan and winks. "You take care of things on your end... let me worry about mine."

Ramon ends his call and leans down towards Ryan, placing the palm of his hand firmly underneath the boy's chin.

"Your brother screwed up again, muchacho," Ramon utters in a low, ominious tone of voice. "This will not bode well for you..."

"For God's sake, leave the boy alone!" Anne blurts out, feeling disgusted with the man's vile threats. "He has done nothing to you!"

Ramon abruptly leaves Ryan and moves over to Anne, leaning in so close to her face that she can feel and smell his foul breath.

"You do not want to make me angry, woman," Ramon snarls as he digs his finger into Anne's shoulder blade. "You spout off again, I will hurt the boy."

Ramon places his large hand over Anne's shoulder and squeezes firmly.

"And, if you force me to hurt him, I will make sure you watch every excruciating second of his suffering."

Anne glares into Ramon's dark eyes, searching for even an ounce of humaneness within the monster.

A sudden knock on the front door interrupts their precarious confrontation.

"It's been a busy night," Ramon states as he pats Anne on her shoulder and leaves her personal space. "I'm definitely going to have to take a siesta later this afternoon."

Ramon opens the front door and groans. "You do know it's in the middle of the fuckin' night..."

"I wouldn't be here unless it was an emergency," the man states as he steps inside the house. "What can this get me... come on, Ramon... my back is killin' me. I'm desperate, man. I need some more pills."

Anne glances over at Ryan and sees the boy turn white as a sheet.

"Ryan, what is it? Talk to me," Anne whispers firmly, amazed the boy can become even more pale than he already is.

"That v... v... voice..." Ryan stutters quietly as another relentless wave of anxiety courses through him. "I know that voice..."

Ramon glances down at the fifty dollar bill and grabs it out of the man's grimy hand. "This will get you a week's supply if you ration yourself. I got Oxycontin and Vicodin... name your poison."

"Vicodin... I'll take the Vicodin."

"Muy bien, follow me... oh, and just ignore my houseguests," Ramon says as he leads the man down the hallway to the kitchen. "They're harmless."

"Whoa... I don't believe it. I don't fuckin' believe it! Never thought I'd see this kid again."

"What... you know this muchacho?" Ramon asks as he digs through his supply of prescription narcotics he has stashed in a cabinet.

"Do I know him. Shit! I used to live with him! Him and his drunken bitch of a mother."

"AJ..." Ryan sighs under his breath, watching in horror as the large man approaches him.

AJ leans into Ryan so he's face to face with the terrified boy. "So tell me, how is Dawnie these days..."

Ryan remains silent and glares at the man who physically and verbally abused his mother, and made his life miserable, for years.

Anne feels overcome with a sense of dread as she suddenly realizes who the man is standing before Ryan.

 _This is the man who beat you,_ Anne thinks to herself, remembering the very first time she came in contact with the boy as she notes both fear and disdain in Ryan's eyes.

Back then, Ryan was a 'John Doe', another nameless teenager brought into the ER, beaten and unconscious. Anne recalls examining the boy from head to toe, tending to his cuts and bruises; searching for signs of drug use and possible sexual assault. She remembers how sick he was with pneumonia and how upset she felt that someone could have done so much harm to a person so young.

After meeting Ryan, Anne's life had changed.

"It's all your fault, you worthless piece of shit! Because of you, that good-for-nothin' mother of yours left me," AJ snarls, taking the bottle of pills from Ramon and immediately downing two of them. "Because of you, I had to get a job so I wouldn't be evicted. Because of you, I hurt my back and now I gotta take these goddamn fuckin' pills!"

"Sounds like this muchacho is your very own, personal whipping boy," Ramon quips, intrigued with the volatile, contemptuous relationship.

"Ah, but I'm feelin' so much better now," AJ says with an evil grin as he leans back down and stares directly into Ryan's fearful eyes. "The night ain't over yet, boy. Let's have some fun..."


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I really appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Eight

Jack and Sandy walk briskly into the Chino Valley Medical Center emergency room; the department eerily quiet in the wee early hours on a Saturday morning.

"Excuse me, we're here to see Trey Atwood," Jack tells the receptionist at the front desk. "I believe he was brought in here a short while ago... car accident."

"That name sounds familiar... let me check."

"Is Dr. Morrison here?" Sandy asks, hoping in the off chance Anne is working the late night shift.

"No, but she is supposed to be coming into work soon. We're short-handed tonight," the receptionist replies as she accesses some files on her computer. "In fact, I just tried calling her not too long ago but there was no answer. I know she lives out in Anaheim Hills so she's most likely on her way here."

"What about Trey?" Jack inquires again, hoping they'll be able to pay the young man a visit.

"Ah, here it is... Mr. Atwood is up in Radiology right now and will most likely be transferred to the ICU. Are you family? I can have an orderly escort you..."

"We know our way," Sandy interrupts, realizing he can probably map out the entire hospital in his sleep as he and Jack make their way to the elevator. "Thank you for your help!"

"Try to relax, Mr. Cohen," Jack offers, watching the man fidget as the elevator doors close. "There's a good chance Trey won't be in any condition to talk."

Sandy rubs the sweat off the palms of his hands as he watches the elevator slowly ascend.

"I just want answers, Detective," Sandy states as the elevator doors open and both men step out into the hallway. "Is that too much to ask?"

* * *

"You're lookin' a bit tired there, Ramon..."

"I could use a little shuteye," Ramon says with a yawn, realizing he hasn't slept in eons. "Can I trust you to watch them?"

"No problem... you can count on me," AJ states, feeling like a new man after taking the Vicodin as he looks forward to catching up with Ryan and maybe having himself a little fun.

AJ watches Ramon retreat into the bedroom and close the door. He then saunters into the kitchen and rolls the sleeves of his grungy, red plaid shirt up over his beefy, tattooed arms.

Ryan apprehensively watches the man enter the room out of the corner of his eye, biting his lower lip as he discreetly loosens the bindings around his raw, chafed wrists.

"So, I must admit... this is quite a surprise," AJ says, flashing Ryan a devilish grin before glancing over at Anne. "But you... I'm curious. How the hell does a nice lady, such as yourself, get tied to a kitchen chair in a godforsaken drug den in Chino."

Anne starts to speak then decides to remain silent, not wanting to engage the loathsome man.

"You and this kid... there's somethin' goin' on," AJ ponders out loud, wondering about the relationship. "Wait a minute... you ain't one of those women who go for younger guys... what do you call 'em... cougars."

"Leave her alone, AJ," Ryan states, not wanting the man to harrass Anne.

"He's a tad bit young for you, don'tcha think? Ain't even outta high school," AJ says, leaning in towards Anne as he places his hands on her shoulders, willing her to make eye contact.

Anne stares at AJ and shakes her head in disgust, feeling replused by the man's vulgar train of thought.

"Now me, on the other hand, I'm a little closer to your age. Whaddya say you and me have ourselves some fun."

Anne wills herself to remain calm, knowing the man would enjoy nothing more than to see her squirm.

"I do so like older women," AJ coos as he takes out his Swiss Army knife and begins to cut the bindings around Anne's wrists. "Much more experienced in matters of the flesh..."

"I said leave her alone..." Ryan utters through clenched teeth.

"It's alright, Ryan," Anne reassures, not wanting the boy to do anything rash.

"You heard the lady," AJ says with a mischievous grin as he frees Anne from her restraints. "I'm gonna have me a little fun..."

"I said take your filthy hands off of her, you goddamn son-of-a-bitch!" Ryan cries out as he finally breaks free from his bindings and lunges at the unsuspecting man.

Ryan rams his body into AJ, sending them both skidding across the kitchen table; the ashtray full of cigarette butts flying into the air as the empty beer cans crash noisily onto the floor below.

AJ quickly takes control and dodges Ryan's fist as they both roll off the table, landing hard on the debris-covered linoleum.

Ryan suddenly cries out in agony as the large man lays on top of him, feeling a sharp stabbing pain on the side of his abdomen.

"Get off of him!" Anne shouts, figuring the man must weigh over two-hundred pounds.

AJ stands up and glances down at the knife in his hand, realizing his blade is covered in blood... Ryan's blood.

"Que el mundo esta pasando aqui!" Ramon demands as he storms into the kitchen, taking in the chaotic scene.

Anne scurries over to Ryan and immediately places her hands over the gaping wound, trying desperately to control the bleeding.

"Call an ambulance!" Anne orders as she quickly tries to assess the damage. "I need to get this boy to the hospital!"

"What the hell happened?" Ramon asks, demanding answers.

"The kid attacked me... it's his fault!" AJ states in his own defense as he goes over to the kitchen sink to wash off his knife. "I must've accidently stabbed him when we rolled onto the floor."

"What in god's name were you doing? I told you to keep an eye on them, you idiot! Can't you do anything right?"

"Hey, it ain't my fault you can't tie a fuckin' kid to a kitchen chair properly!"

"Stop it, both of you! This boy needs medical attention!" Anne reiterates, trying to remain calm. "I need to get him to the hospital!"

"No hospital!" Ramon states, making it clear no one is going anywhere. "You're a doctor... fix him!"

* * *

"Mr. Cohen? Is that you?"

Sandy turns around and smiles when he sees Faith walking down the hallway towards him and Jack.

"It's good to see you again," Sandy says earnestly, returning the nurse's friendly hug.

"You must be here to see Ryan's brother."

"Yes, we're hoping to talk to him if that's okay..."

"It'll probably be a few hours before the pain meds wear off but I'm afraid you'll have to get in line," Faith says as she grabs some patient files at the nurse's station. "The Chino police are also anxious to talk to him. What's this all about?"

"We're looking for Ryan," Sandy says, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "He was with Trey earlier this evening, but now we can't find him... nobody knows where he is."

Faith's heart sinks when she hears the concern in the man's voice, remembering back when Ryan was her patient not that long ago.

"I was just on my way to check on Trey. Why don't you come with me," Faith says, beckoning both men to follow. "Maybe he'll wake up sooner than expected... everyone's different."

Sandy feels a strange sense of deja vu come over him as he and Jack follow Faith through the ICU to a small room, partially closed off with a privacy curtain.

"Can you tell us about his condition?" Sandy asks when he sees Trey laying in the bed covered with bruises and numerous small cuts on his face; still unconscious.

"Well, he has a concussion, a few cracked ribs and a broken collarbone. The doctors are concerned about the possibility of internal bleeding so he's been listed as critical, but stable," Faith answers as she notes the blood pressure reading on the monitor. "He's lucky... I believe he wasn't wearing a seatbelt."

"What about the other driver?" Sandy asks with some hesitation, praying there wasn't any casualties.

"The other driver sustained non-life threatening injuries also," Faith happily reports.

"Do the police have any evidence whether or not Trey was drinking?" Jack asks, curious about what caused the accident.

"No, the tox screen came back negative. The police are thinking the crash was caused by distracted driving or fatigue... maybe a combination of both."

Faith studies both men intently, noting their deep concern.

"Maybe Mr. Atwood's personal effects will be of some help," Faith offers as she finishes logging in the data.

"May we take a look?" Jack asks, hoping they'll find an address to someone named "Cyndie" and a note saying "Ryan is fine".

"I placed Trey's clothing here," Faith says, pointing to a bag with the hospital logo plastered on it. "And over there, on the chair, is a bag of assorted items the police recovered from Trey's car before it was towed."

"Excellent, thank you nurse," Jack states as he makes a beeline over to sift through Trey's personal belongings.

"Mr. Cohen, if there's anything I can do... anything at all, please let me know."

"Thank you," Sandy says, offering a gracious smile and warm hug to one of the nurses who took such excellent care of Ryan when he was sick. "I appreciate everything you've done."

* * *

Anne looks down at her bloodied hands as she continues to apply pressure on the wound. She glances back up at Ramon and quickly realizes neither she, nor the boy, are going to experience the luxury of a hospital setting anytime soon.

"All right, I need a first-aid kit," Anne states firmly, hoping Ramon has one lying around.

"AJ, there's a first-aid kit in the bathroom cabinet under the sink," Ramon says. "Go get it."

"Why the hell do I have to get it!" AJ scoffs, not like being ordered around.

"Because I said so!" Ramon barks back. "You're the one who fucked up... go get the godamn first-aid kit!"

Anne watches AJ stomp out of the kitchen, then immediately focuses her attention back on the task at hand.

"I need some sort of antiseptic... rubbing alcohol... hydrogen peroxide if you have it."

"I have hydrogen peroxide," Ramon says as he opens a kitchen cabinet to retrieve the needed item. "It's quite effective at removing blood stains..."

Anne grabs the bottle of antiseptic and quickly shakes off the uneasy feeling that the product in her hand has been used more as a cleaning agent than for first-aid purposes.

"I also need some towels... 'clean' towels," Anne accentuates, not wanting to use any filthy kitchen rags that are lying around. "And a bowl of warm water."

"I take it you want 'clean' water," Ramon emphasizes with a hint of sarcasm as he retrieves some dishtowels out of the drawer.

"Yes, and in a clean bowl... please," Anne says, deciding to change her tone of voice to something less demanding, not wanting to irritate the already volatile man.

"It'll be alright, Ryan," Anne says softly as she watches the boy do his best to mask the amount of pain he's experiencing. "I'm going to help you. You need to trust me..."

AJ walks down the hallway in a huff, not appreciating being told what to do. He begins to step into the bathroom, then immediately stops when he spots something of interest out of the corner of his eye.

 _All right... a gun,_ AJ thinks to himself as he quickly picks up the weapon off the table in the hallway and checks to see if it's loaded. _I think I'll hang onto this little baby... might just come in handy._

AJ tucks the loaded pistol in the back waistline of his pants and covers the weapon with the tail of his plaid shirt. He then proceeds to retrieve the first-aid kit and makes his way back to the kitchen.

"Took you long enough," Ramon growls as he swipes the kit from AJ's hands and gives it to Anne. "The kid is bleeding all over my fuckin' floor."

"Why the hell are we even helpin' him?" AJ asks, confused by the man's sudden interest in saving the kid. "You're just gonna kill 'em anyways."

"Maybe... maybe not," Ramon replies as he places a bowl of warm water and clean towels down next to Anne. "I haven't decided what I'm going to do with them. But what I do know is that as long as I have the muchacho, Trey Atwood will be my little bitch."

"Trey Atwood's a fuckin' idiot," AJ snarls.

Ramon leans back against the kitchen counter and casually lights up a cigarette, taking in the man standing before him and finding himself amused. "Takes one to know one."

* * *

"Exactly what are we looking for, Detective," Sandy inquires as he helps sift through Trey's personal belongings.

"I don't know... something... anything that may help us find the lad," Jack replies as he looks through Trey's wallet but comes up empty.

Jack let's out a long sigh of frustration and runs his hand through his hair. "There's nothing here... nothing!"

"What about the stuff the police collected from Trey's car," Sandy offers, wanting to remain optimistic as he is nowhere near the point of giving up.

Jack glances over at Sandy and smiles in appreciation. "You know, you're a lot like Kat, my partner," Jack says as he walks over to the chair and opens the bag. "She always knows what to say and when to say it."

Jack begins rifling through the bag when suddenly his eyes widen with intrigue. "This is interesting," Jack says as he pulls out a lady's purse.

"Maybe the purse belongs to that 'Cyndie' person," Sandy offers, hoping this is the lead they've been looking for.

Jack sifts through the contents of the purse and pulls out a wallet and cell phone.

Sandy looks over at Jack, noting the sudden confusion on the detective's face.

"What is it? Did you find something?" Sandy asks, realizing his heart is beating out of his chest in anticipation.

"This wallet and purse belongs to Dr. Anne Morrison," Jack replies as he looks at the driver's license, then flips open the cell phone to take note of the most recent calls. "Looks like the last call was from here... the hospital."

Jack sets the items down on the table then runs his hand over his tired face. "What the hell is going on here?"

* * *

"Ryan, you need to hold still."

"It h... h... hurts..."

"I know it hurts, but you can't move around," Anne says, keeping one hand on the wound as she uses her other hand to stop the boy from pulling his legs towards his chest and curling up into a ball. "Let me take a look."

Anne carefully pulls Ryan's blue shirt up to his chest and notes the location of the stab wound; on his left side, well below the ribcage.

"All right, good news... it looks like the knife didn't penetrate the chest cavity," Anne says as she carefully washes the blood off the wound and surrounding area with warm water. "And the cut is more towards your side so hopefully the knife missed your abdominal cavity."

"W... w... would th... that be b... b... bad?" Ryan asks, stuttering as he begins to feel chilled, most likely due to the sudden loss of blood.

"It's why I don't want you to move around too much," Anne states, offering a small smile of reassurance as she gazes down at the injured boy and gently runs her soft fingers over his damp forehead. "Ryan, you need to trust me... do you trust me?"

Ryan stares up at the doctor, something he remembers doing a number of times before as he tries to swallow back his fear. "Y... y... yes, I t... t... trust you."

Anne opens the first-aid kit, pleased it's well stocked with useful items. She removes some tweezers and wipes them thoroughly with the antiseptic.

"Ryan, there are a few strands of thread from your shirt I need to remove from the wound," Anne explains, knowing the boy prefers to be informed about what is being done to him. "You need to hold still."

Anne carefully plucks the small fragments of thread from the wound, glancing up occasionally at Ryan, making sure the boy is remaining conscious.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Ryan... this is going to sting a bit," Anne warns as she pours some hydrogen peroxide directly onto the wound.

Ryan cries out and kicks his legs, his breathing becoming rapid as he clenches his fists and fights against the pain.

"I'm so sorry... I know it hurts," Anne says, hating putting the boy in more pain than he already is in. "I'm almost done."

Anne grabs a box of butterfly stitches and meticulously begins closing the deep cut, then quickly places a sterile gauze pad over the wound. "I need you to hold this in place, just for a moment," Anne says, as she gently places Ryan's hand over the pad, wishing she had her staff of nurses to help her.

"Mmm... kay," Ryan mumbles as he keeps his eyes on the doctor, wishing the other two men in the room would go away... forever.

Anne takes out the adhesive tape, then removes Ryan's hand. She diligently secures the bandage over the wound, double-checking to make sure she left no gaps.

"I have one more favor to ask of you," Anne tells Ryan as she takes a roll of gauze out of the first aid kit. "I'm going to wrap this snuggly around your waist. I need you to arch your back slightly... not a lot, but just enough so I can reach under you."

Ryan grits his teeth against the pain and does as he's told, blinking away the tears as the doctor wraps the gauze around his waist.

"All right, you can lower your back... I'm done," Anne states as she tucks in the end of the gauze to secure it and pulls the boy's shirt back down.

Anne glances down at Ryan and offers a comforting smile as she brushes the sweat-soaked bangs off his forehead. "It's going to be alright, Ryan... I'm right here. I'm going to take care of you."

"Touching words, Doc... you're pullin' my heartstrings," AJ quips sarcastically, wondering what Ramon plans on doing next.

"The muchacho is better, eh?" Ramon says as he looks down at Ryan and assesses the situation.

"For now, but he still needs to be in a hospital," Anne replies, stating her case again but knowing her words are just falling on deaf ears.

"So what's the plan, Ramon?" AJ asks, having no intention of leaving the party when there's so much fun to be had.

"For now, let's put them in the basement," Ramon replies, wanting to buy some time. "I need to think..."

"Basement! Great idea," AJ agrees as he grabs Ryan under his arms and lifts him to his feet, anxious to lock the kid up so he won't be able to escape again.

Ryan cries out in pain as AJ abruptly pulls him to his feet; his knees buckling under his own weight as he tries desperately to regain his footing while being viciously manhandled.

"Please, be gentle with him!" Anne pleads as she feels Ramon's arm squeeze tightly around her chest as the man undoes the padlock and opens the basement door. "There may be internal bleeding. He can't move around..."

"Aw, the kid'll be fine. He can take it," AJ interrupts, tired of the woman's concern over a two-bit street punk. "He's been through worse..."

AJ drags Ryan down the wooden stairs to the cold, empty cellar, then pushes the boy down onto the hard cement floor.

"This is your new home... hope ya like it!" AJ says as he kicks Ryan in his upper thigh, chuckling when he hears the boy cry out in pain.

Anne squirms and breaks free from Ramon's grasp and rushes over to Ryan, instinctively using herself to shield the boy from any more harm.

Ryan curls up in a ball on the cold, concrete floor and watches as both men walk back up the stairs. He shudders when he hears the basement door slam shut, then feels an overwhelming sense of dread as he listens to the padlock being secured.

Anne looks around the empty, windowless room and notices one bare lightbulb attached to the ceiling, flickering as if it's on its last life. She glances down at Ryan and sees the stark fear in the boy's eyes.

 _Oh my god... we're in hell,_ Anne thinks to herself as she gazes down at the injured, traumatized boy.

 _You're in hell again..._


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **In case anyone is wondering, Kirsten and Seth are still in my story. They're just being the two most patient people on the planet at the moment. ;-) As with many of my chapters, sometimes only an hour or two elapse. I tend to take things a bit slowly. I just want to let readers know I haven't forgotten about them.**

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I really appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Nine

"Excuse me, Miss..."

The receptionist looks up and sees the two men she spoke to earlier leaning against the front desk.

"You mentioned you called Dr. Morrison and there was no answer," Jack states, checking Anne's cell phone and noting the last call was at 3:07am. "Did you also call her at home?"

"Yes, but there was no answer... I just assumed she was on her way here."

"I see..."

"If you want, I can try calling her again," the receptionist offers, wanting to be of help.

"No, that's okay," Jack says, knowing it wouldn't do any good. "I'd like to speak with someone in charge of Security."

"Sure, I'll page him," the receptionist says as she becomes slightly worried. "Is there anything wrong? Has something happened to Dr. Morrison?"

"I just want to check up on a few things, that's all," Jack replies, not wanting to divulge anything and, at the same time, not wanting the woman to worry.

Jack and Sandy step away from the desk and walk into the hallway to wait for Security.

"What are you thinking?" Sandy asks, noting the intense concentration on the detective's face.

"We know Trey needed money... two grand," Jack replies as he mentally goes over what he's learned over the past few hours. "But instead of asking you for help, he steals from Ms. Everly."

"I told you Trey can be rash... he tends to act first and think later."

"That's a lot of cash for someone to come up with... especially someone like Trey. I take it the young man isn't into budgeting and money management?"

"I know he's living paycheck to paycheck," Sandy states, sharing what knowledge he has of Trey's financial situation. "That's why I was going to help him out with tuition costs if he earned his GED."

"Well, now it looks like Dr. Morrison was with Trey sometime after he and the lad left the Corral," Jack says, knowing he's stating the obvious but needing to think out loud. "Trey most likely was trying to check the doctor's cell phone when it started ringing."

"So it was distracted driving that caused the accident..."

"Mr. Cohen, you know Dr. Morrison fairly well. Do you believe she would help Trey?" Jack asks, feeling both intrigued and worried about the new development.

"I'm not sure... she might," Sandy replies, knowing that Anne Morrison is a compassionate woman and Trey is very adept at the art of manipulation. "But there is one thing I do know for sure, Detective."

"Oh? And what is that..."

"She would definitely help Ryan."

* * *

Anne listens to the floorboards above her creak as the two men walk around the house, seemingly going on with their business. She peers around the empty, dimly lit basement and sees nothing but cold concrete. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots two iron shackles hanging from the ceiling, then glances down at a drainage hole in the floor; the cement surrounding the area stained, most likely, from blood.

 _This basement is used for interrogations... torture,_ Anne thinks to herself, shivering at the thought. _How many people have been punched, kicked and cut for information or money..._

Anne quickly rids the sickening thought from her mind and returns her attention to Ryan. She notices the boy still curled up in a ball, shivering slightly.

"Let me take a look," Anne says as she gently coaxes the boy to straighten his legs and lay on his back. "I need to make sure the wound hasn't reopened."

Ryan begins to breathe rapidly as he slowly straightens his legs; the hard cement floor unforgiving as the stabbing pain in his side worsens with the slightest movement.

"All right, there's no blood seeping through the bandage," Anne says as she checks underneath the gauze, happy she can keep the wound covered. "How about where you were kicked... your leg."

"I'm f... f... fine," Ryan stutters through his short breaths, not wanting the doctor to fuss over him.

Anne ignores the boy's words, knowing he's a far cry from being "fine". She glances down at his left thigh and sees fresh blood seeping through the torn hole in his jeans.

 _That man's unprovoked kick must have aggravated the cut on his leg,_ Anne thinks to herself, not happy the boy has another open wound.

Anne immediately reaches into the pocket of her suit jacket, remembering she grabbed her scarf before leaving to go to work.

 _This will have to do for now,_ Anne tells herself as she ties the scarf snuggly around Ryan's thigh, hoping it will be enough to stop the bleeding and protect the wound.

"Here, let me place my jacket under your head," Anne says as she takes off her suit coat and starts folding it into a pillow.

"No, d... don't... it'll g... get d... d...dirty..."

"Ryan, it's just a jacket. I can have it cleaned or I can get another one," Anne states, confused by the boy's concern over a meaningless article of clothing. "I don't care about my jacket... I care about you."

Anne places the makeshift pillow under Ryan's head, then gently runs her hand over his damp hair, hoping she's made the boy a little more comfortable.

"Mmm... m... my arms are n... n... numb," Ryan stutters as his breaths become even more short and rapid. "C... c... can't feel... f... f... face t... tingling..."

"You're hyperventilating," Anne asserts, realizing the amount of pain the boy is experiencing is causing him to breathe too rapidly. "You need to slow your breathing down, otherwise you're going to pass out."

"C... c... can't..."

"All right, look at me, Ryan," Anne orders firmly but in a gentle tone of voice. "I'm going to place my hand over your mouth. You need to trust me."

Ryan looks up at the doctor and begins to feel lightheaded; his lips and nose tingling as he continues to wrestle with the seemingly unending anxiety coursing through his weakened body.

Anne places her hand gently over Ryan's mouth, forcing the boy to breathe through his nose.

"Now I'm going to take my finger and press it on your nostril so you'll only be able to breathe through one nostril. Okay?"

Ryan nods his head, letting the doctor know she can continue. He starts to panic slightly as she cuts off more of his air supply, but then suddenly begins to relax as his breathing slowly returns to normal.

"Good... you're doing great," Anne reassures as she removes her finger to see how he breathes through both nostrils. "Just follow my breathing. In... then out... nice and slow... nice and even."

Ryan keeps his eyes fixated on the doctor and breathes with her in unison, noticing the tingling and numbness quickly subsiding.

Anne removes her hand from Ryan's mouth but continues to breathe with him, never taking her eyes off the boy.

"Another trick is to close your mouth and pierce your lips and pretend you're breathing through a straw."

"S... Seth always uses a b... brown paper bag..."

Anne smiles down at the boy, noticing a marked improvement with his breathing as some of the color returns to his face.

"He p... panics a lot..."

"Well, the next time you're with Seth and he has a panic attack, you'll have a few new tricks to show him."

Ryan turns his head away and stares out at nothing but the cold, empty room, wondering if he'll ever see Seth or any of the Cohens again.

"N... none of this would have happened if I had just s... s... stayed in the car..."

Anne gently runs her fingers through Ryan's damp hair, deciding to remain silent and let the boy talk.

"Trey told me to stay put... I should've listened to him," Ryan says with a deep sigh as he turns his head back and gazes up at the doctor. "He was taking me b... back home and just needed to make a stop... said he'd only be a few... a few minutes..."

Anne listens intently, trying to hear every word as the boy's voice gradually becomes softer.

"I should've stayed in the car..."

"Ryan, your brother should have never brought you here to begin with," Anne states, breaking her silence. "He should have taken you home first, then come back here to take care of his business with Ramon."

"Maybe..." Ryan says, almost in a whisper as he contemplates the doctor's words.

"When Trey brought you here, he placed you in grave danger," Anne continues, hoping to get her point across. "Your brother needs to take responsibility for his actions."

"I wonder how bad the car accident was... " Ryan says, his voice deep with melancholy. "I'm so angry at him for getting you involved in this mess, but..."

"But, what?"

"But, he's my brother. I don't want him to die..."

* * *

"Jack O'Brien? Why aren't you a sight for sore eyes..."

"Grayson Birch... hey, it's been awhile," Jack says with a smile as he shakes his old colleague's hand. "This is Sandy Cohen."

"Pleased to meet you," Sandy says as he shakes the man's hand, wondering how the two men know each other.

"Jack and I used to work together on the force, that is until I took a bullet in the leg," Grayson explains to Sandy. "Came out here to take a less physically demanding job..."

"Come on, Gray... tell me you don't miss the Newport Beach action," Jack says with a wry grin.

"Pool boys screwing bored housewives, then turning around and blackmailing them," Grayson says, reminiscing about the good old days. "Ah yes... the sleazy, sordid lives of the rich and not quite famous."

Sandy can't help but smile to himself, wondering if the man has ever met Julie Cooper.

"Jack, what's this about?" Grayson asks, suddenly becoming serious.

"I was wondering if I could take a look at the surveillance footage taken this past evening of the parking lot."

"No problem. Mind if I ask why?"

"I'm working 'unofficially' on a case right now. Mr. Cohen's son has gone missing," Jack explains as all three men walk down the hallway to the security office. "Now it appears Dr. Anne Morrison has also vanished. I believe her disappearance may be tied in with the lad's."

"Are you thinking foul play?" Grayson asks, holding the door open for both men to enter.

"I'm not sure, but Dr. Morrison never made it into work this evening. I need to start a timeline... see if she even arrived here at the hospital."

"Well then, we should take a look at the parking garage surveillance footage. That's where the doctors and consultants park, as well as long-term visitors; those who have loved ones in the ICU and need to stay at the hospital overnight."

"I know it well," Sandy says with a long sigh.

"What's your son's name?" Grayson asks, feeling he's seen the man somewhere before.

"Ryan... Ryan Atwood," Sandy replies. "My wife and I are in the process of adopting him."

"Ryan Atwood? Is that the same kid who was abducted by his lunatic father not too long ago?" Grayson asks as he leads both men to a back room filled with computer screens. "I remember reading about it in the paper. I thought you looked familiar. You held a press conference... a very moving, emotional plea for the boy's safe return, as I recall."

"It's very unusual for the lad to miss his curfew and not let the Cohen's know where he is," Jack says, anxious to look at the footage. "But there's been no evidence of foul play. All we have is our gut feeling."

"Gut feelings won't get you search warrants or Amber alerts," Grayson acknowledges. "This is Josh. He'll help you with the surrveilance footage."

"Thanks, Gray..."

"Listen, I need to get back to my office, but I want to help. I've got a few friends in the CPD. Let me make a few calls... see if the officers out on patrol can keep a lookout for the kid and the doctor. You never know..."

"That would be great. We'd really appreciate it," Sandy says as he shakes the man's hand, thankful for any help he can get.

"Good luck... I hope you find Ryan and Dr. Morrison safe and sound."

* * *

"Your brother is going to be alright," Anne says, reassuring the distraught boy.

"W... w... why do you say that?"

"It's just a feeling I have..."

Anne glances down at Ryan and brushes the damp bangs off his forehead as she discreetly checks for a fever, worried the boy could become ill.

"The car accident may have actually been a blessing in disguise."

"Why would my b... b... brother's car accident be a b... blessing in disguise?" Ryan asks, confused by the doctor's way of thinking as he tries to shake off some fitful chills from the loss of blood.

"Because now people will definitely be looking for us," Anne explains, hoping her line of reasoning makes sense. "They'll find my purse and cell phone in Trey's car... they'll know something is wrong."

Ryan shivers slightly and wraps his arms around his chest, wondering how Sandy and Kirsten will react when they find out he never came home.

 _I wouldn't blame them if they held up their hands and said "we've had enough",_ Ryan thinks to himself as different scenarios play out in his already crowded mind. _I've caused them nothing but trouble. They should just send me to a group home or back to juvie... where I belong._

* * *

"How far back do you wanna go?" Josh asks.

"Let's start at midnight," Jack replies, thinking that's as good of a place as any.

Josh fast forwards the grainy footage, pressing "pause" each time a vehicle or person appears on the screen.

"There! That car right there!" Jack announces, pointing at the computer screen. "At camera three... that car is passing up numerous parking spots."

"And now he pulls up alongside a lady... looks like it could be Dr. Morrison," Josh adds. "Maybe he's asking for directions?"

"Back it up a bit," Jack directs, wanting to look at the footage more closely. "See that? She leans in the passenger side then slightly backs away before getting into the car."

Jack takes out his pen and notepad and quickly notes the time on the video; 12:40am.

"It doesn't look like she was forced into the car," Josh adds, happy to have something to do at six o'clock on a Saturday morning.

"Can you zoom in on the license plate?" Sandy inquires, knowing it must be Trey's car but wanting actual proof.

"Sure, if this was TV," Josh states, wishing he had that technology at his fingertips. "If I zoom in, it will just become more blurry. You'll have to send the footage to the police department. If they don't have the right equipment, I'm sure the FBI does."

"All right, thank you for your help," Jack says, happy to have gotten something from the surveillance footage.

"Now will the police get involved?" Sandy asks as he follows the detective back out into the hallway.

"I'm afraid we're still on our own," Jack replies, knowing he still hasn't any evidence of foul play. "An adult has every right to get into someone's car and skip work..."

"And a teenager has every right to break curfew and stay out all night... yes, I know," Sandy sighs with frustration as he runs his hand over his tired face. "So what's our next step?"

"The nurse said it would be a few hours before Trey wakes up. Let's run over to Corona and pay Trey's lawyer a visit. He should be awake by now," Jack states as he and Sandy head back to the car; the sun just coming up over the horizon on the cool, early March morning. "Maybe he can give us a name... anything that could help us."

"Don't hold your breath, Detective," Sandy says as he gets into the car and fastens his seatbelt. "You don't know Dirk Kramer."

* * *

"You look like your fuckin' brain's gonna explode."

Ramon glances up at AJ, then lights up a cigarette as he contemplates what his next move will be.

"I'm thinking... something you probably find hard to do."

AJ sneers at the belittlement, not appreciating the cutdown.

"You know Trey's gonna talk," AJ says, sharing what knowledge he has of the older Atwood brother. "He's in the fuckin' hospital, most likely doped up on god knows what... the guy's gonna talk!"

"Don't you think I've thought of that, you idiot?" Ramon snaps, not appreciating being told what he already knows. "Tell me something I don't know!"

"Whether or not Trey gets diarrhea of the mouth, I know you, Ramon... you still plan on killin' them."

"I thought about driving them out to the desert and putting a bullet in their skulls," Ramon offers up as one of the scenarios he's been contemplating. "Their bodies wouldn't be found for weeks... what's left of them, anyways."

"Sounds good to me," AJ says, grinning mischievously as he imagines all sorts of desert creatures feasting on the kid's corpse. "Wait a minute..."

"What? You got an idea, lunkhead?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do," AJ states, grabbing Ramon's pack of cigarettes and helping himself to a smoke. "I think I know a way on how to get rich."

"Come again?"

"The kid... he lives with a family in Newport Beach. They're loaded. I know the father is a lawyer. We can ransom him."

Ramon starts laughing uncontrollably at AJ's outrageous idea, feeling no one would pay money for the kid, except maybe the level 3 sex offender living a few doors down who seems to have an affinity for teenage boys.

"I'm serious Ramon... this family he lives with... shit, they moved heaven and earth to get that mangy kid back when he came to live with me and his mother last summer," AJ explains, feeling he may be onto something. "They became his legal guardians or somethin' crazy like that."

"That doesn't mean they'll pay a ransom for the muchacho," Ramon counters. "It just means they're responsible for him."

"True, but when Ryan's own father abducted him around six months ago, I remember watchin' the lawyer dude on TV all teary-eyed and pleading to get the kid back. It was fuckin' touching, lemme tell ya. I was bawlin' my eyes out."

Ramon smirks at the man's sarcasm as he mulls over the preposterous idea.

"Look at you Ramon... look at this place," AJ states, holding his arm out, pointing at the dismal surroundings. "You're building a reputation as well as a business... just think what you can do if you suddenly became rich."

"How rich?" Ramon asks, his curiosity piqued.

"I don't know... maybe a couple of mil... we could split it."

"Two million, eh? You think this family would pay that much for the muchacho?"

"Well, there's only one way to find out," AJ says, feeling the man coming around to his way of thinking.

Ramon stubs out his cigarette in the now empty ashtray and rubs his hand along his goatee. "And if this lawyer refuses to pay?"

"Well then, shit... we'll just kill 'em."

* * *

"I really w... want to sit up..."

"You can't sit up yet, Ryan," Anne says as she gently places her hands on the boy's shoulders, coaxing him to stay down. "You've lost a lot of blood. If you sit up too soon you could get lightheaded and pass out."

Ryan glances around the concrete prison, trying desperately not to panic.

"Ryan, I have complete faith that people are out there searching for us. You should too."

"I know but..."

"And you must hold onto the hope that those people will find us soon."

Anne watches the boy's eyes dart around the room as he wraps his arms tightly across his chest.

"Tell me something about yourself," Anne says, wanting to distract the boy; hoping to alleviate at least some of his anxiety. "Something about you that not many people know..."

Ryan turns his head and looks up at the doctor, then bites his lower lip. "You first..."

"Me? All right, let me see..." Anne says as she ponders the boy's request. "Okay, I'll share with you something only my family knows."

Ryan's eyes widen with interest as he focuses all of his attention on the doctor.

"My first name isn't Anne. It's my middle name."

"W... w... what's your first name?" Ryan asks, wondering if it's something horrid like Mildred or Edith.

"Charity... Charity Anne Morrison from Chattanooga, Tennessee," Anne says with a playful, southern accent.

"That's a really p... pretty name. Why did you change it?"

"Well, when I came out here to go to med school many, many years ago, I felt the name 'Anne' would garner more respect. So I dropped my first name..."

"You d... don't speak with a southern accent," Ryan notes, never thinking she was from anywhere but California.

"I've been living here for over half my life. I guess, over time, the accent faded..."

"So why d... d... don't you tell people your first name now? You're a highly respected d... doctor," Ryan states, wishing he could stop shivering so he would stop stuttering.

"I don't know, I suppose I could," Anne says, mulling over the idea. "But, with my luck, everyone would start singing 'Hey Big Spender' while impersonating Shirley MacLaine."

"Who?"

"Shirley Mac... oh, never mind," Anne says, realizing the generation gap. "She's a little before your time."

"Well, I w... won't tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me."

"I'm sure it is," Anne says with a smile as she places her hand on Ryan's forearm and squeezes gently. "If there's one person on this planet I can trust not to blab something, it's you."

Ryan willingly accepts the warm touch, then turns his head away and sighs.

"Okay, now it's your turn," Anne says as she gently rubs her hand along the boy's arm, hoping to alleviate some of his chills. "Tell me something about 'Ryan Atwood'."

Ryan turns his head back and looks at the doctor, finding himself beginning to relax a little. "Well... I'm afraid of heights."

"Really? I didn't know that," Anne says somewhat surprised, but happy the boy shared something private about himself with her. "So I guess bungee jumping isn't on your to-do list."

Ryan offers a small but sincere smile, appreciating what the doctor is trying to do. "I've never been to Ch... Chattanooga."

"Oh, it's beautiful... right on the Tennessee River, surrounded by lush, green mountains..."

"Mountains, huh..."

"Yep... lots of mountains."

Suddenly the door opens, sending a flood of light from the kitchen down to the basement. Ryan immediately scrambles to sit up, wincing at the pain while shaking off the dizziness.

Anne quickly decides to help the boy, knowing that what he lacks at the moment in physical strength he makes up for with sheer determination.

"Well, well... don't you two look cozy," AJ coos as he and Ramon walk down the rickety stairs.

"I'm hoping that you've both come to your senses and will allow me to bring Ryan to the hospital," Anne says in a last ditch effort to reason with her captors. "He needs medical attention and most importantly, antibiotics."

"And just how are you going to explain the stab wound, eh?" Ramon asks as he leans his back against the wall and folds his arms across his chest. "Are you going to lie and say he was mugged? Or, maybe claim it was self-inflicted... the muchacho was hearing voices in his head?"

"I could make something up... no one has to know..."

"Bull shit! If you think for one minute I'm letting you or the muchacho go, then you're almost as dumb as he is!" Ramon exclaims, pointing his finger directly at AJ.

"Fuck you, Ramon..."

"See? Not too bright... couldn't come up with anything more intelligent to say."

AJ scoffs as he finds himself becoming more and more annoyed with the arrogant drug dealer.

"I want the phone number of your legal guardian... not the home number but his cell," Ramon orders to Ryan as he takes out his cell phone, ready to add the number to his contact list.

Ryan looks at both men, wondering why they would want Sandy's cell phone number.

"Are you fuckin' deaf?" AJ asks, becoming impatient. "You heard the man... give him the cell number!"

"No..."

AJ immediately smacks the right side of Ryan's face with the back of his hand, not appreciating the teenager's defiance.

"Oh my god... Ryan, let me take a look," Anne pleads as she tries to pry the boy's hand off his cheek as blood slowly drips from his nose. "You brute! You didn't have to hit him!"

"Yeah, you didn't have to hit him... you brute," Ramon reiterates as he tries to stifle a grin, enjoying getting under the man's skin.

Ryan's eyes tear up as the stinging pain from the sharp blow to his face permeates through his cheek and jaw.

AJ paces back and forth, growling under his breath; his face reddening as he becomes more and more angry. "Tell me the goddamn phone number!"

"Go to hell..."

"Wrong answer," AJ says as he pulls the gun from the back waistband of his pants and places the muzzle directly against Anne's left temple. "Cell phone number... now! Or I'll blow the good doctor's head off!"

Anne feels her heart beating out of her chest as fear quickly takes over. She immediately tries to convince herself the man is bluffing and prays he won't pull the trigger.

"Don't hurt her!" Ryan cries out as he hears AJ cock the weapon.

"Phone number..."

"Please, just put the gun down!"

"Five seconds..."

"Fine!" Ryan says, giving in as he relinquishes Sandy's cell phone number.

"Did you get that, Ramon?" AJ asks, still holding the gun firmly against the side of Anne's head.

"Si, I got it," Ramon replies, holding his phone up for AJ to see.

"Good, then I don't need you anymore," AJ says as he suddenly points the gun directly at Ramon and pulls the trigger.

Ryan quickly covers his ears with his hands as the deafening sound from the gunfire resonates throughout the basement.

"Did you actually think I was gonna split the ransom with the likes of you?" AJ says as he bends down and takes the cell phone, along with the man's keys, wallet and beloved hunting knife. "Who's the idiot now, a-mi-go..."

"I'll see you in hell," Ramon gasps, choking on his own blood as he takes in his last breath.

Anne immediately places her arm around Ryan's shoulders as she waits for the high-pitched ringing in her ears to subside. She looks closely at the boy and sees his eyes wide open and filled with terror.

"You better hope you're worth somethin' and that legal guardian of yours pays," AJ says to Ryan as he makes his way back upstairs. "Otherwise, this'll be more than your prison... it'll be your tomb."

Ryan's body jolts as AJ slams the basement door, then shudders when he hears the man lock the deadbolt. He glances over at Ramon's lifeless body and watches in horror as a pool of blood forms on the cement floor, then slowly trickles away from the corpse and drips down into the drain. He immediately brings his legs up to his chest and wraps his arms tightly around his knees.

"Ryan, I'm right here... it'll be alright," Anne says, trying her best to soothe the boy.

Ryan buries his face in his arms as he trembles with fear.

 _It's just a bad dream... this is all just a bad dream,_ Ryan tells himself. _I need to wake up now. Wake up... wake up... wake up..._

Ryan looks back up at Ramon and sees the man's black, lifeless eyes staring straight at him.

 _Oh god, I'm not... I'm not waking up..._


	11. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **Sorry! I know it's been awhile since I've updated. Gosh darn holiday season gets me every time. ;-) Things should settle back down in January. I hope.**

 **In this story, I'm exploring PTSD and how it affects Ryan, as well as the people closest to him. There are many forms of PTSD, but I feel the "intrusive memories" aspect of the disorder best suits how I've written the character and everything he's been through.  
**

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Ten

"Woohoo, jackpot!," AJ exclaims, unlocking the kitchen cabinet with Ramon's key and finding the stash of prescription meds. "Looks like I won't have to ration for a loooong time."

AJ forages through the various bottles of pills, finding himself becoming giddy with excitement at the prospect of having so much at his fingertips. "Aw, sorry Doc... looks like there ain't no antibi... anti... whatever. Guess the little shit's outta luck."

AJ locks the cabinet back up, then sits down at the kitchen table and lights up a cigarette. Propping his feet up on the table, AJ grabs Ramon's wallet and removes his fifty along with the rest of the cash before tossing the small, leather billfold over his shoulder.

"Now to figure out the best way to contact Mr. Public Defender himself... Sandy Cohen," AJ says out loud with a hint of swagger in his voice, even though he's the only person in the room. "There's no way I'm usin' my phone... probably shouldn't use Ramon's..."

AJ reaches over and lifts the curtain to take a look outside.

"Sun's comin' up... it's a brand new day," AJ says as he exhales the acrid smoke through his nostrils and stubs out his cigarette. "I seem to remember seein' a pay phone close to the park. Maybe it's time to get outta the house for a bit. I am feelin' a little cooped up."

AJ makes sure the back door is locked, then double-checks the padlock on the basement door.

"All secure... safe and sound," AJ says as he leaves the house and locks the front door. "Now, it's time to make a very important phone call..."

* * *

Anne gently rubs the back of Ryan's neck as the boy remains huddled up in a ball; his knees pulled up close to his chest; his arms wrapped tightly around his legs.

"I'll be right back, Ryan. I need to go check Ra..."

"No, d... don't!" Ryan interrupts, suddenly panicking.

"It's alright, I just need to check a few things."

"B... but he could..."

"Ryan, he's dead. I'm just going across the room... fifteen feet at most," Anne reassures as she runs her fingers through the boy's hair before placing her hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. "I won't be long."

Ryan watches with deep apprehension as Anne slowly makes her way over to the corpse; every second she's away feeling like agonizingly long, drawn out minutes. He scans the dark shadows of the cold, desolate room with his wary eyes, looking for anything that moves... anything that could bite.

Anne kneels down next to the lifeless body and checks for a pulse; her instincts as a doctor immediately kicking in as she closes the man's eyelids and mentally estimates a time of death.

She looks down at the gaping gunshot wound to his chest and sighs. _Death wasn't instantaneous, was it, young man,_ Anne thinks to herself, wondering if there's anyone who will mourn him; a mother, a father... maybe a sister or brother. _You drowned in your own blood and the last person you saw was your killer._

Anne glances back over at Ryan and sees the boy still huddled up, trembling with fear.

 _I need to get back to him,_ Anne tells herself as she quickly rummages through Ramon's pockets and pats down his legs with her hands, hoping AJ missed something; a hidden weapon, anything that could help them escape.

"Nothing," Anne sighs softly, disappointed when her search comes up empty.

Anne quickly makes her way back to Ryan and sits down next to him. She immediately wraps her arm around his shoulders and pulls the boy in close to her, hoping to ease his anxiety.

"I'm right here, Ryan... I'm not going anywhere..."

"He's d... d... dead, right?"

"Yes, Ramon is dead. He's not going to hurt you or anyone else ever again..."

* * *

"So, just so I have my facts straight, after Trey was arrested for car theft, he was interrogated even after he lawyered up?" Jack says as he pulls up alongside the curb in front of Dirk Kramer's house and turns off the engine. "Then he was suddenly given early parole a couple of months ago?"

"Trey didn't want to make a big deal about it. I think he just wanted to get on with his life," Sandy adds, remembering the young man being loathe to speak on the subject.

"And you believe this lawyer knows why but won't divulge anything, claiming attorney-client privilege," Jack continues as he sits in the sedan with Sandy, making sure he understands the situation before confronting Trey's PD.

"I can't shake the feeling that whatever has happened this past evening may have had something to do with Trey attempting to steal that car."

"Well, you could be right," Jack says as he and Sandy get out of the car and start walking towards a small but nicely kempt house in a quiet, middle class subdivision of Corona. "To be honest, I'm beginning to think this 'Cyndie' person doesn't even exist. No one seems to know who she is; not Trey's girlfriend... not even his best friend, Eddie."

"Why would Trey make someone up?"

"Possibly to take your son, Seth, out of the picture?" Jack replies, feeling he may be onto something. "Do Trey and Seth get along?"

"I don't know... I assume they do..."

"Maybe... just maybe, Trey isn't all that fond of Seth and didn't want to share the time he spends with his brother with your son," Jack states, looking at the facts from a different angle. "That would definitely explain the cock and bull story of hooking the lad up with this so-called 'Cyndie' person."

"I suppose so..."

"I think we've been chasing a ghost, Mr. Cohen," Jack says, suddenly feeling more confident with approaching Trey's PD. "There is no 'Cyndie'. Trey wanted to spend time with his brother but somehow, somewhere... things went south."

"And Trey's lawyer... he can give us answers," Sandy states, agreeing with the detective's assessment.

"Exactly... it's time we find out just what Dirk Kramer knows."

* * *

Caleb Nichol pulls into the airport parking garage and searches for a suitable place to park. He quickly becomes agitated; not happy with the lack of open spots.

"This is ridiculous!" Caleb mumbles with frustration, not used to parking the car himself as he glances at the clock and sees it's almost seven. "It was so much easier when my chauffeur just dropped me off right at my jet's hangar."

Caleb finally finds an acceptable spot close to an elevator and parks his car. He double-checks his pockets, making sure he has his wallet and much needed passport. A sly smirk suddenly appears on Caleb's face as he looks down at the passport in his hand, remembering when the court reluctantly returned it to him.

 _Their hands were tied... they had no choice,_ Caleb thinks to himself as he places the passport back in his jacket pocket. _Thank you, Karl._

Caleb immediately wipes the smug smile off his face as he takes out his cell phone to call his trusted pilot and confidant.

"Has everything been handled?" Caleb asks brusquely as he gets out of his car and holds the lock button down on his key fob to activate the car alarm.

 _"The money is here on board in a suitcase as you requested, sir."_

"All right, I've been informed that I have to go through security due to my previous... unfortunate arrest, but they assured me it's just a small checkpoint... more like a formality," Caleb explains, not happy he's being treated like some run-of-the-mill traveler. "So it will take me a bit longer to get down to the tarmac."

 _"It seems kind of silly if you ask me. What do they think you're going to do, blow up your own plane?"_

Caleb remains silent as he listens to his pilot let out a hearty chuckle on the other end of the line, finding himself unamused.

"What's our ETD."

 _"We've been given clearance to take off at 8:06 am."_

"Excellent..."

 _"The car you requested will be waiting for you at Tijuana International, but I notice you didn't secure a driver..."_

"That's correct, I don't need a driver," Caleb says, wanting as few people involved in his little endeavor as possible. "I know where I'm going."

 _"As you wish, Mr. Nichol... take-off will be in about an hour."_

Caleb ends his call and steps into the elevator, electing not to hold the door open for a young family of four frantically racing towards him.

 _They can get the next car,_ Caleb thinks to himself, hurriedly pressing the "close door" button as he straightens his tie and runs his hand over his single-breasted, worsted wool suit coat. _I have an important date with a young lady and I will not... I cannot... be late._

* * *

Jack knocks on the front door and waits a few moments, hoping the Kramer clan are early risers. Suddenly, the front door opens and both he and Sandy glance down at a young boy, no older than seven, standing in the entryway.

"Good morning, lad... is your father home?" Jack asks in his most jovial tone of voice, observing the child clad in blue striped pajamas and slippers that represent big, green Godzilla feet.

"Maybe... why?"

"Well, we'd like to talk to him," Jack says, taken aback slightly by the child's curtness.

"Do you gotta warrant?"

"A what?" Jack asks, perplexed by the miniature human standing before him.

"A warrant... are you deaf or just dumb."

Sandy cringes at the child's lack of respect, but understands who he gets it from.

"We don't have a warrant," Sandy says calmly, figuring he should be the one to handle the insolent child. "We would just like to speak to your father."

"Hey, Dad! There's two old guys here who wanna talk to ya! And one of them's got these huge, gignormous eyebrows!"

"Old! Who the hell is he calling old!" Jack says to Sandy in a loud whisper, not appreciating the child's remark.

"He's seven... to him, Ryan would be old."

"Yeah? Can I help you?" Dirk Kramer asks as he stands in the doorway wearing a black, velour bathrobe and matching slippers. "Wait a minute... I know you."

"Sandy Cohen," Sandy says, holding his hand out to shake the lawyer's hand. "We've met a few times in court."

"That's right, now I remember... the bleeding heart liberal from Newport Beach," Dirk says with a hint of disdain in his voice as he reluctantly returns the handshake. "What brings you out this way? Things not hot enough for you out on the coast?"

Jack stands next to Sandy and quietly observes the tense exchange, waiting for the right moment to enter the conversation. He takes quick note of the lawyer's appearance; approximately thirty years old with dark hair and pale complexion.

 _Small stature... somewhat of a runt,_ Jack thinks to himself as he continues sizing up his opponent, knowing that this encounter will probably not end well. _And he appears to be more of an arse than me..._

Sandy opens his mouth and begins to say something, then quickly stops, not wanting to get into a verbal sparring match with a fellow lawyer.

"I'm Detective O'Brien," Jack says, showing the man his badge. "We would like to talk to you about one of your clients, Trey Atwood..."

"Oh no... what has he done now," Dirk sighs wearily as he stands aside, allowing both men to step into the foyer.

"Trey was in a car accident..."

"Was he drinking?" Dirk asks, wondering if it will be something he can just plead out. "Was anyone killed?"

"No, nothing like that," Jack states.

"Then why the hell are you here bothering me on a Saturday morning?"

"We're looking for Trey's younger brother, Ryan," Sandy says, already put off by the man's attitude. "He was with Trey last night but has gone missing."

"Ryan... I seem to remember Trey mentioning something about him. He's a teenager... sixteen, am I right?"

"Yes..." Sandy replies, knowing what the man is probably thinking.

"Why don't you just ask Trey where his brother is."

"Trey isn't able to answer any questions at the moment," Jack pipes in.

"Here's what I think. The brothers went to a party and Trey left to get more beer," Dirk says, putting a viable scenario together so his unwanted guests will leave. "Trey gets into a car accident and Ryan passes out at the party in a state of utter bliss after hours of booze, bongs and babes."

Sandy bites his tongue as he tries to keep his cool, finding himself thankful that Ryan wasn't assigned Dirk Kramer as his Public Defender.

"The kid most likely will come home around noon today with his tail tucked between his legs," Dirk continues, taking advantage of both men's silence. "You can ground him until Christmas, or take him over your knee and spank him if that's something you think you'd get off on."

Sandy runs his hand over his face and shakes his head, finding himself loathing the man as he tries desperately to remain calm.

"We believe that whatever has happened to Ryan may have something to do with Trey getting arrested for stealing that car," Jack states, looking over at Sandy and noticing the man fighting to keep his composure. "We know Trey was interrogated after lawyering up... seems strange, no? The guy was caught red-handed, why violate his rights?"

"Sorry, but I can't help you with that."

"Yeah... yeah... attorney-client privilege... I get it," Jack says, not surprised by the man's answer.

"We're just looking for a name, Dirk... anything," Sandy says, hoping the man will loosen up a bit and help.

"Sorry, like I said... can't help."

"Dirk, just give me a name... something!" Sandy pleads, quickly losing his battle to remain calm.

"What is it about you and this kid? Jesus, he's just another two-bit street punk... who the hell cares if he's gone missing..."

"God dammit! Give me a name!" Sandy cries out as he lunges towards the lawyer and pins him against the wall. "I don't care about your damn privilege! Trey said something to you, now tell me! Dammit, Dirk! Tell me what you know!"

"Mr. Cohen, stop!" Jack orders as he attempts to break up the confrontation. "You need to step away right now!"

Sandy remains steadfast with his fist pressing into the front of the lawyer's neck, tightly gripping the black, velour bathrobe as unbridled anger rises up inside him.

"You know nothing! Nothing about Ryan! Nothing about the hell that kid has been through!"

"Mr. Cohen! I said step away!"

Jack grabs Sandy's arm and wrenches the man's tight fist away from the stunned lawyer. He immediately steers Sandy over to the door and steps in close, invading all of his personal space.

"You have got to get ahold of yourself," Jack orders in a loud whisper. "It will do no one any good, especially the lad, if you're sitting in a jail cell facing assault charges."

Sandy takes in a deep breath and desperately tries to regroup, knowing the detective is right.

"You need to leave... step outside, get some fresh air and calm down," Jack says as he opens the front door. "I'll finish up in here."

"I just... I... he knows something," Sandy whispers softly as he slowly begins to feel himself settle down.

"Mr. Cohen..."

"All right... you're right... I'll wait for you at the car."

Jack watches Sandy walk back to the car, then turns his attention over to Dirk Kramer.

"Mr. Cohen is tired... he's under a great deal of stress..."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to press charges."

* * *

Sandy leans against the sedan and feels a stray tear slowly trickle down his cheek as he looks up at the rising sun. He quickly wipes it away when he suddenly feels his cell phone vibrate in his jacket pocket.

"Hello? Ryan, is that you?" Sandy asks with desperation in his voice when he sees the caller ID is "unknown".

 _"Nah, sorry Pops... but speakin' of Ryan..."_

"What? Who is this? You know where Ryan is?" Sandy asks, feeling a new sense of hope flood through him.

 _"Two mil... that's how much it's gonna cost if you ever wanna see that mangy kid again..."_

"You have Ryan? Please, let me talk to him... I need to talk..."

 _"Two million and no cops. If you go to the cops, I will kill him."_

"Please... don't hurt him..."

 _"You do not wanna know what I'll do to that kid... what I've done to that kid..."_

"Two million and no cops... I understand. But, please... let me talk to him," Sandy pleads.

 _"Just get me my money... banks are open 'til noon. I'd hurry if I were you."_

"I'll get you the money..."

 _"Good... I'll be in touch. Oh, and one more thing, Mr. Cohen..."_

"Yes?"

 _"If you screw this up and I do have to kill him, I assure you... it'll be slow and painful. That kid will suffer..."_

Sandy hears a "click" as the anonymous caller hangs up. He takes in a deep breath and gazes out at his surroundings; looking at the trees, the houses, then up at the clear, blue sky.

 _Oh, my God..._

* * *

"I suppose there's nothing I can do or say that will change your mind."

"Unless you have actual evidence that something has happened to the kid, I don't have to tell you 'squat'," Dirk states as he nudges Jack across the threshold of the front door. "And, if the kid does end up being in some sort of danger, come back with a subpoena..."

Jack shakes his head in disgust, not happy he's lost this battle.

"Now, I believe it's time for you to leave. It appears I may be needed over at the hospital," Dirk says, realizing his Saturday has just officially been ruined. "Wouldn't want my client's rights to be violated... again."

"Here's my card," Jack says, handing his business card to the lawyer and purposefully forgoing the handshake. "If you happen to have a change of heart, call me."

Dirk accepts the business card and watches the man slowly walk away from the house.

"Detective!"

Jack quickly turns around and looks at the lawyer, curious as to what he wants to say.

"All I can tell you is that the cops didn't give a rat's ass that Trey stole that car," Dirk says, choosing his words carefully. "They only cared about one thing."

"Oh yeah? And what was that..."

They only cared about 'why' Trey stole that car."

Jack watches as Dirk closes his front door, then glances over at Sandy leaning against the sedan, finishing up a phone conversation.

"Mr. Cohen, we should probably head back to the hospital..."

"You know, you're right... I need to get myself together," Sandy says as he places his cell phone back in his jacket pocket. "I think I should go back home and be with my family. They've been alone all night..."

"Are you sure?" Jack asks, somewhat puzzled the man doesn't want to talk to Trey.

"I lost it in there," Sandy continues, nodding his head towards the house. "God knows what will happen if I lose my temper with Trey."

"Maybe you're right... you should go back home and get some rest," Jack states, knowing the man is exhausted and nearing his breaking point. "I can drive you..."

"No, I called a cab," Sandy interrupts. "He'll be here in a few minutes."

"Very well, Mr. Cohen. I'll go over to the hospital. Hopefully, Trey will be awake and they'll let me talk to him."

"Sounds good..."

"I'll call you if I find out anything," Jack promises as he gets into his car and starts the engine.

Jack lowers the driver's side window and leans out, looking at the worried-sick man standing before him.

"And you'll do the same, right? You'll let me know if you hear anything?"

"Of course, Detective," Sandy says with a weak voice, unaccustomed to lying. "Let me know how it goes with Trey."

"We'll find the lad, Mr. Cohen. You must have faith."

Sandy offers a small smile of appreciation as he steps away from the car and watches the detective drive away. He walks over to a shade tree and leans against the sturdy trunk; standing alone as he feels his heart slowly break, thinking about Ryan.

 _Where are you, kid... are you hurt... are you scared?_

"I'm scared," Sandy whispers to himself. "God, please help me... what should I do?"

* * *

"It's going to be d... d... dark soon..."

"What?" Anne asks, slightly confused, knowing the sun must be coming up by now.

Anne gently rubs Ryan's arm and shoulder as she continues to hold him, hoping to give the boy some comfort and security.

Ryan glances up at the ceiling and sees the flickering light bulb struggling to stay lit, then focuses his attention on the lifeless body lying on the cold concrete floor across the room.

"It'll be d... dark soon. And, then... then they'll come..."

"Who will come?" Anne asks as she leans in close, still not understanding what the boy is trying to say. "Tell me, Ryan..."

"He left me... I have to get out... I... I n...n...need to get out..."

"We'll get out of here, Ryan. You need to believe that," Anne reassures as she places her hand on the boy's back. "There are people out there looking for us... looking for you."

 _Don't listen to that bitch... your own mother didn't want ya... nobody wants ya..._

"Shut up..."

"What?" Anne asks, still confused as she gently rubs the boy's back with her hand.

 _Trey ain't gonna help ya... your mama ain't gonna protect ya..._

"I said shut up..."

Anne observes the boy as he continues to stare off into the distance, seemingly unaware of her presence.

 _Goodbye, son...such a shame it had to end this way..._

"P... please... d... don't leave me..."

"I'm right here, Ryan," Anne whispers softly in the boy's ear, realizing she's not privy to half of the conversation. "You're not alone."

"I n... need to... g... g... get to the window..."

Anne looks around the windowless room and suddenly realizes what is happening.

 _You think you're back in the warehouse... the gunshot... AJ shooting Ramon... it triggered the memory,_ Anne thinks to herself, recalling that Ryan witnessed his father killing a woman, leaving him locked up with her corpse and the subsequent, ravenous rats.

Anne racks her brain, trying to come up with something to say... anything to help the boy through this horrific ordeal.

"It'll b... be d... dark soon. Then they'll c... come..."

"Ryan, look at me," Anne orders as she gently places the palm of her hand upon the boy's bruised cheek and turns his head to face her. "There are no rats... we will get out of here. You're not alone... I'm right here with you."

Ryan stares blankly into Anne's eyes then immediately directs his attention back to his ominous surroundings. He watches as the blood slowly trickles away from the corpse, then drips down into the floor drain.

"It's going to be d... dark soon. And then... then they'll come..."


	12. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **I've gotten the impression from a handful of reviewers that some of you enjoy reading this story over your lunch hour. I can't help but envision folks wallowing in Ryan's pain and suffering while munching on a turkey sandwich. ;-) Well, there's more "Ryan" misery to come... so enjoy!  
**

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Eleven

Anne watches the boy's wary eyes dart around the room as he struggles with his thoughts; every agonizing second teeming with fear and dread.

 _What do I do?_ Anne thinks to herself, frustrated with not having the expertise to help the boy handle his inner turmoil. _I can stop his bleeding and stitch him up, but I'm not a psychiatrist._ Anne runs her fingers through Ryan's sweat-soaked hair, hoping her gentle touch will console him. She thinks back to all of the classes and seminars she's attended throughout her career, many addressing the subject of post traumatic stress in patients who have experienced severe physical and emotional trauma. _But, I've never had to treat the person's mental disorder. In the ER, I would get my patient physically stable, then just call for a psych consult._

"I w... won't let him hurt you... AJ... I'll p... protect you..."

Anne gets jolted from her thoughts when she hears Ryan's soft spoken words, relieved the boy is talking and seems to be back in the present.

"I... I c... couldn't protect you from D... Dad. I was too small, b... but now I'm bigger... stronger..."

"Ryan, look at me," Anne states softly, worried the boy is becoming more and more disoriented.

Ryan slowly turns his head and suddenly becomes confused when he sees the doctor instead of his mother.

"I mean I c... couldn't protect my m... mom..."

Anne sits in close to Ryan and wraps her arms around the trembling boy. She remembers Dawn Atwood, having met the woman a handful of times; none of them pleasant.

"It's alright... I know what you meant," Anne whispers soothingly as she gently kisses the side of the boy's head. "I tell you what... how about we protect each other."

Anne listens intently as she hears a soft sigh from Ryan, then a faint verbal affirmation.

"Mmm 'kay... we'll p... protect each other..."

* * *

"Excuse me, nurse..."

Faith looks up and sees the tired, haggard-looking detective standing in front of the nurse's station and offers a warm smile.

"Detective O'Brien, you're back," Faith says as she glances around the area. "Where's Mr. Cohen?"

"He needed to go back home and be with his family for awhile," Jack replies, still finding the man's sudden desire to leave a bit strange. "I was wondering if Trey is awake. I'd like to ask him a few questions."

"Well, like I said earlier, you'll have to wait your turn. The Chino police are talking to him right now."

"Faith! Is it true? I heard that Dr. Morrison has gone missing!" Hope says as she rushes over to the desk, ready to begin her shift.

"I think it's just a rumor going around..."

"I'm afraid the rumor may be true," Jack interrupts, wanting to be honest so the rumor doesn't get too out of control. He knows that something as innocuous as a person not showing up for work on time can quickly turn into a macabre nightmare as people continue to talk and let their imaginations run rampant without having all the facts.

"Hope, you remember Detective O'Brien..."

"Yes, of course I do," Hope says, somewhat confused the Newport Beach detective is here in Chino.

"It appears that Dr. Morrison was with Trey this evening. This is why I need to speak with him," Jack explains calmly to the two worried nurses. "And, I also believe Trey may know where his brother is."

"Ryan? Has something happened to Ryan?" Hope asks, becoming deeply concerned.

"The lad has gone missing, but we have no evidence of any foul play," Jack states, hoping to allay the woman's fears. "If Ryan is in some sort of trouble, I believe Dr. Morrison may be helping him. If I could just talk to Trey... oh, shit..."

Jack looks down the hallway and sees Dirk Kramer step out of the elevator. A wide frown suddenly appears across the detective's already glum face as he curses again; this time under his breath. _Damn it..._

"Please, excuse me ladies..."

Jack rushes down the hallway towards the lawyer, hoping the man had a nice breakfast with his family and will now be more flexible in his stance regarding his client.

"Mr. Kramer..."

"Save it," Dirk says as he holds his hand up to stop the detective's forthcoming plea. "You lied to me."

"Lied to you... I haven't lied to you," Jack states defensively, utterly confused.

"You told me you wanted to talk to Trey about his brother," Dirk explains, still not happy with how his Saturday is shaping up. "But, I've been told Trey is a prime suspect in a theft that took place last night at a bar here in Chino, the Corral."

"The Chino police are investigating that theft. I'm only interested in the whereabouts of Ryan and Dr. Morrison."

"You didn't mention anything about a doctor missing."

"Dr. Anne Morrison... she works here in the ER. Trey was with her before he got into the car accident."

"Well, this just keeps getting better and better," Dirk mumbles out loud; his words dripping with sarcasm as they ooze from his pale, thin lips.

"Mr. Kramer, I just want to ask Trey a few questions," Jack states, deciding to plea his case one last time. "You can even stay in the room with us and offer him your expertise..."

"Don't patronize me, Detective..."

"Sorry, I just... I really need to talk to Trey."

Dirk runs his hand through his dark hair, then rubs his eyes while shaking his head.

"If you want to do what's best for your client, you'll let me talk to him," Jack continues, sensing the lawyer may be coming around. "We know that both Ryan and Dr. Morrison were with Trey last night. If he knows anything, he needs to say something now."

Dirk folds his arms across his chest and lets out a heavy sigh.

"If anything bad has happened to the lad or to Dr. Morrison and Trey knows something, he can be held liable."

Dirk groans softly under his breath as he listens to the detective's rational argument.

"I don't care about the car accident and I don't care about the theft. That's the jurisdiction of the Chino police," Jack states firmly as he looks the lawyer straight in the eyes. "I only care about finding the lad and Dr. Morrison."

Jack waits a few seconds in silence, waiting impatiently for a reply.

"You know I'm right, Mr. Kramer. If Trey knows something..."

"All right, all right! Jesus, you just don't quit, do you!" Dirk bemoans, feeling a headache coming on and it's only nine in the morning.

"I've been told, on occasion, I can be somewhat of a stubborn arse."

"I'm shocked..."

"So, how do you want to proceed."

"First, I need to find out if my client is under arrest for the theft," Dirk says as he and Jack start walking towards Trey's hospital room. "If he's not, I'll talk to him. I'll advise him to talk to you in my presence, but ultimately, it will be Trey's decision. If he doesn't want to talk to you, I can't force him."

"Fair enough," Jack says, finding himself hoping the police are lacking sufficient evidence to make an arrest. "But, if Trey is placed under arrest for theft?"

"Then I'm afraid I'll have to advise my client not to talk to anyone."

* * *

AJ steps into the house and quickly locks the front door.

"Don't want no visitors today," AJ quips out loud, "unless it's Mr. Hot-Shot lawyer with my money."

AJ walks around the house and makes sure all the curtains and blinds are drawn shut. He then returns to the living room and peers through the small opening in the boarded-up front window.

"I'll have a good view from here," AJ states, still talking to himself as he looks out at the street. "He'll come with my money and wanna see the kid. I'll say, 'Sure, no problem', Pops!"

AJ finds himself becoming giddy again as he works out the details in his mind.

 _I'll bring him over to the basement door, open the padlock and pull out my gun,_ AJ thinks to himself as he walks back into the kitchen. _I'll take his cell phone and wallet, then force him into the basement and lock 'em all up. I'll be long gone before anyone ever finds them..._

AJ looks around the kitchen, the room still in a state of disarray after his scuffle with Ryan.

 _If only I knew where Dawn was... I would rub that boozed up, mess of a face of hers in all my money,_ AJ muses to himself as he lights up a cigarette.

As AJ enjoys his smoke, he spots a leather jacket lying on the floor. He picks it up and examines the garment while brushing off the dirt and debris.

"Too small to be Ramon's," AJ says to no one in particular. "Too nice to be Alonzo's."

AJ begins rummaging through the pockets and finds a wallet.

"Shoulda known it would belong to the kid... what's this?"

AJ takes out a small, salt dough ornament in the shape of a green Christmas tree.

"Well, ain't this just peachy sweet. It says 'Mom' in perty, red glitter."

AJ tosses the trinket in the garbage and stubs out his cigarette.

 _The kid knows where his mother is,_ AJ thinks to himself as he makes his way to the basement door and unlocks the padlock. _And he's gonna tell me..._

* * *

"Sandy, what are you doing home?" Kirsten asks, surprised to see her husband walking through the front door. "Have you found Ryan?"

"Where's Seth," Sandy replies, preoccupied with his thoughts; his wife's words not yet registering in his brain.

"He's upstairs... Sandy, what's going on?"

"Seth! Son! Come down here... now!"

"Sandy? What's wrong? I know that look... something's wrong!"

"Dad? What's going on?" Seth asks as he quickly runs down the stairs, heeding his father's order.

Sandy immediately wraps his arms around his wife and son, embracing them tightly as he lets out a long, plaintive sigh.

"Ryan's been kidnapped."

"Ryan's been what?" Kirsten gasps.

"Dad, no! What do you mean he's been kidnapped!"

"I received a call... a ransom call."

"Oh, my God, Sandy... does Detective O'Brien know? Is he handling..."

"He doesn't know anything... I didn't tell him," Sandy interrupts as he goes into his home office to get a small duffel bag he uses for overnight trips. "The man said 'no cops'. He... he said he would kill Ryan if I went to the cops."

"Do you know who has Ryan?" Kirsten asks, following her husband into the office and watching as he frantically empties the contents of the duffel bag.

"No... I haven't a clue..."

"But you have a plan, don't you Dad?" Seth asks, his voice trembling with worry and fear. "We're going to pay the ransom, right? We can pay it..."

"Of course we're paying the ransom," Sandy states, never doubting the fact.

"How much does the kidnapper want?" Kirsten asks.

"Two million..."

"We got that, right Dad? We... we can get the money?"

"I can take a chunk out of our savings as well as cash in our CD's," Sandy says, explaining how he will come up with the money.

"Will that be enough?" Kirsten asks, worried they might come up short.

"If it's not, I'm afraid we'll have to dig into the retirement account..."

"I'll work until I'm a hundred if it means getting Ryan back," Kirsten states without hesitation.

"I know you would," Sandy says with an appreciative smile as he gives his wife a loving hug.

"So, what do we do now, Dad?"

"Now, we go to the bank," Sandy replies. "But, we need to hurry... they close at noon."

Kirsten and Seth quickly grab their jackets, then anxiously follow Sandy out of the house.

"Then what do we do, Sandy? Did the kidnapper give you any instructions?" Kirsten asks, her voice shaking as she hurries to keep up with her husband and son.

"He just demanded the ransom," Sandy replies as he nervously fumbles for his keys. "We'll get the money then return back here and wait for another call. We need to stay together, alright?" Sandy orders as they all pile into the Land Rover. "Whoever has Ryan, I don't know their motive."

"Do you think it has something to do with Trey?" Kirsten asks, clasping her hands tightly with worry; feeling an empty pit rapidly form inside her stomach.

"I'm not sure... In my line of work, I've made some enemies myself," Sandy says as he pulls out of the driveway and makes his way towards the bank. "We need to stay together, at least until I figure out who has Ryan... just to be safe."

* * *

"Well, well... lucky for you, looks like Daddy Warbucks is gonna come through."

Ryan glances up with apprehension and dread as he watches AJ slowly descend the creaky, wooden stairs.

"Where is she!" AJ orders, his voice strong and demanding.

"Who?"

"Don't be a smartass, you no-good punk! You know who I'm talkin' about," AJ states with sheer disdain in his voice as he hovers ominously over Ryan and Anne. "Your mother, remember her? That drunken bitch who had me throw your worthless ass out onto the street?"

"I don't know where she is."

"Don't lie to me, kid! You know what happens when you lie to me!"

"I said I don't know!"

"That's bullshit!" AJ yells as he kicks Ryan hard in the side of his leg.

Ryan immediately kicks back, hitting the enraged man square in the shin with his leather boot.

AJ curses in pain, then lunges towards Ryan, kneeling on top of his thighs to pin him down. He grabs Ryan's right arm and twists it behind his back while firmly holding his left arm in place, rendering the struggling boy powerless to fight back.

Ryan cries out in pain as the large man's knees dig mercilessly into his legs; his twisted, right arm feeling on the verge of breaking.

"Tell me where she is!" AJ commands as he lets go of Ryan's left arm and places his massive hand around the boy's already bruised neck.

"I... d... don't know wh...where..." Ryan gasps as he frantically attempts to pull AJ's hand away from his throat; the man's strong grip quickly tightening, causing him to choke.

"Stop it!" Anne cries out as she attempts to pull AJ off the boy. "You're going to kill him!"

AJ releases his hold around Ryan's neck and with violent force, shoves Anne away, sending the woman tumbling across the room; her glasses flying off her face as her shoulder hits hard against the bottom stair.

"I told you, don't lie to me!" AJ yells as he grabs Ryan by his hair, yanking the boy's head back so he can stare at him directly in the eyes.

Ryan's vision begins to blur as he frantically struggles to free himself from the man's firm grasp; the pain in his arm and legs intensifying as he begins to hallucinate.

 _Don't lie to me boy! You know what happens when you lie to me!_

"Stop! Dad, you're hurting me!"

Tears stream down Ryan's face as his eyes continue to play tricks on him; his mind struggling with what's real and what's imagined as the vision of his father, then AJ, goes in and out of focus.

 _Ya know, I never wanted ya..._ _I told your mom to get an abortion, but she wouldn't... damn bitch._

"Shut up! I hate you!"

 _I think your mom had you just to spite me..._

"You know, I never could understand why Dawn ever wanted you. She probably had you just to spite that psycho, old man of yours."

"I hate you!"

"I don't care."

Anne scrambles to her knees and retrieves her glasses, relieved the lenses didn't break. She glances up the staircase and sees the door wide open; the light from the kitchen streaming down into the basement, enticing her to escape; beckoning her to seek help.

"You know where she is. Why protect the bitch!"

"My mom left me! I don't know where she is!"

"You're lyin'! You always sucked at lyin'!" AJ hollers as he lets go of Ryan's hair and thrusts his fist hard into the boy's abdomen.

Ryan buckles over in pain and wraps his left arm over his stomach, fighting the wave of nausea coursing through him.

"I'm just gonna keep hittin' ya, kid. You know I'll just keep hittin' ya!"

Ryan grimaces in agony as AJ continues to dig his knees into his thighs; his right arm becoming numb as it's held firmly behind his back.

Anne turns her head away from the light and sees the horror unfolding before her.

 _I can't leave him,_ Anne thinks to herself as she gingerly stands up and quickly makes her way back to Ryan.

"You always did take a beatin' for that bitch," AJ spits out as he releases his brutal grasp and slowly stands up, realizing the kid is about to pass out.

Anne quickly kneels down next to Ryan and tries to hold him, but the boy immediately lays down and curls tightly up in a ball; wanting to alleviate, or possibly hide, his pain.

"Ryan, let me see... please, let me take a look at you," Anne pleads as she hears AJ walk back up the stairs.

"Come on, Ryan... it's me, Dr. Morrison."

Anne begins to rub the boy's back, hoping he'll allow her to help.

"He's gone now. AJ... he left."

"My m... mom used to t... tell me that..."

Anne feels her heart sink as she listens to Ryan's melancholy words; wondering just how much abuse the boy has experienced in his short lifetime.

"Here, catch!"

Anne looks up and sees AJ standing in the doorway at the top of the stairs; the light shining behind him shadowing his face; his large stature a silhouette of dread. She quickly catches the first-aid kit and wonders if the man is relenting or, if the box is empty, playing a cruel trick.

"Keep him alive, Doc. That's the only reason why you're still breathin'," AJ orders as he begins to leave. "If the kid dies... you die."

Anne shudders as the basement door is slammed shut and sighs in despair when she hears AJ secure the padlock. She quickly opens the first-aid kit and realizes everything has been removed except for the gauze, tape and antiseptic wipes.

 _So much for gouging the man's eyes out with safety scissors,_ Anne laments to herself, somewhat surprised by her violent thought.

"All right, Ryan... you need to lay on your back," Anne says as she retrieves her suit jacket and places it under the boy's head.

Ryan reluctantly turns over and slowly straightens his legs; every inch of his body throbbing with unrelenting pain.

Anne pulls Ryan's shirt up and diligently checks the stab wound under the bandage; sighing with relief when she sees the stitches remained intact. She then unties the scarf from around his thigh and shakes her head in discouragement when she notices the material soaked in fresh blood.

"Ryan, I have to enlarge the tear in your jeans," Anne explains as she carefully rips the fabric to expose more of the wound.

Ryan cringes at the sudden movement and grits his teeth against the pain as he accepts the doctor's help.

"Sorry, I know it hurts," Anne says quietly, hating to see the boy in so much pain as she cleans the wound with an antiseptic wipe.

Tears well up in Ryan's eyes as he fights against the pain, wondering if there's any place left on his body that isn't bruised.

"Almost done," Anne says as she wraps the gauze snugly around the boy's leg and secures the bandage with tape. "Is there anywhere else I need to check? Does your arm hurt? How about your neck?"

"I'm fine..."

Anne shakes her head and sighs as she runs her hand over Ryan's damp forehead, wondering how many times she's heard the boy's stock reply.

"Are you alright?"

"What?" Anne asks, confused by the boy's question.

"Are you hurt? D... did he hurt you?"

Anne sighs and offers the boy a small smile. "I'm okay, Ryan. My shoulder is just a little bruised, but I'll live."

Anne studies the boy as he diligently works to steady his breathing, relieved he's not hyperventilating again.

"Ryan, do you know where your mother is?"

Ryan glances up at the doctor, then sighs. "She's living in Atlanta with my Uncle Lenny."

"Why, Ryan? Why didn't you just tell AJ..."

"Because I... I don't w... want him to find her. She's d... doing so well. She's sober... she's happy."

"But, AJ could have killed you."

"I don't care. If my m... mom finds out about this, she'll re... relapse. I c...can't let that happen..."

 _Dawn Atwood doesn't deserve a son like you,_ Anne thinks to herself as she gently strokes the top of the boy's head.

"You know, Ryan, if I had a son..."

Ryan looks up at the caring woman, wishing she didn't have to live this nightmare but, at the same time, thankful for her presence.

"If I had a son, I'd want him to be exactly like you."


	13. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **Poor Kirsten and Seth. I don't think they'll ever get any love. At least that's the impression I got from many of the reviews I've received. ;-) But, with that said, Sandy happens to love his wife and son very much and the characters are needed to make my story complete.**

 **Also, some readers have stated they skip over parts of my story when it involves characters they don't like. I would prefer not knowing this. I take a lot of pride in what I write, so it's somewhat disconcerting to find out people aren't reading my entire story. Everything I write, I write for a reason; either to lend insight to backstory, enhance what I've been writing or to set up a future scenario. I'm trying to put together a complete story, something I hope readers will enjoy in its entirety. :-)**

 **Taking care of one of those pesky rats this chapter. I hope you enjoy!**

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Twelve

"Try to relax, Senora Sanchez. Everything is going to work out fine," Kathryn reassures as she finishes securing the bugging device under the woman's clothing.

"Como puede... how can you be so sure?"

"It's just a gut feeling I have."

"Gut feeling? No entiendo..."

"Detective Strauss means she believes that this 'sting' operation will go well," Rodriguez chimes in as he double-checks the room to make sure everything is in place. "We'll be right next door. You'll be safe."

Maria quickly buttons up her blouse when Kathryn finishes her task, then immediately wipes her sweaty palms on her pink and green floral print skirt.

"Just remember to let Mr. Nichol do all of the talking," Kathryn says as she goes over the plan one last time with the nervous woman. "You can't say anything about knowing Frank, the money or the briefcase. Is that clear?"

"Si... yes, Detective."

Kathryn places her hands on Maria's small shoulders and offers a reassuring smile.

"Just pretend he's one of your 'marks'," Kathryn adds, hoping the woman will relax and come through for them. "You're working a con... nothing more, nothing less."

"Except this one's legal," Rodriguez adds with a wide grin on the face.

"Este hombre... this man, he hurt the boy, si? The one in the picture you showed me?"

"Not directly, but he was the instigator," Kathryn explains matter-of-factly. "If Caleb Nichol never offered Frank Atwood the money to take his son, then the boy would have never been harmed."

"Como hace el nino ahora? How is the boy doing now?"

"As far as I know, Ryan's fine. I know he's living with a wonderful family in Newport Beach," Kathryn says, smiling at the thought. "In fact, I believe this family is planning to adopt him."

"Really? El nino esta seguro ahora... he is safe now?" Maria asks again, surprised she finds herself so concerned over a boy she has never met and doesn't even know. "Esta bien?"

"Yes, he is well," Kathryn states with a reassuring smile. "It's Saturday morning. I bet Ryan's playing video games or sitting around the pool, hanging out with his friends."

"Si, Senora... el nino es pasar un buen rato," Rodriguez confirms, having checked the room and is satisfied that all is in place.

"Really? You are sure?"

"I agree with Detective Rodriguez," Kathryn says, noticing the woman finally relaxing. "I'm sure Ryan's fine. The boy is safe now and is probably having a good time..."

* * *

Ryan glances warily around the faintly lit room as he feels the doctor gently stroke the top of his head; the stench of death permeating the stale air as each minute slowly ticks by.

"I n... need to sit up..."

"All right, let me help..."

"No, I can m... manage..."

Anne observes the boy struggle to push himself up into a sitting position; his sheer determination matching the agonizing pain of performing the simple, basic movement.

"Ryan, I should take a look at your arm..."

"It's fine... it's not b... broken."

Anne sighs as she listens to the boy's words, wondering how many broken bones he's endured in the past that has given him the medical expertise to self-diagnose.

"M... my shirt... it's ruined."

"Ryan, it's just a shirt..."

"Kirsten g... gave me this shirt," Ryan mumbles as he looks down at the front of the blue Henley and runs his hand over the small tear. He sighs softly at the sight of the ruined garment; the fabric soiled with dirt... stained with crimson blood.

Anne places her hand upon Ryan's shoulder and squeezes gently, curious as to what the boy is thinking.

"I remember... it was a Sunday night... before I s... s... started first grade. I m... must've been seven."

Anne scoots closer to Ryan and leans in, wanting to hear every soft-spoken word.

"My mom b... bought me a new shirt for my first day at school. Not something second-hand from the Salvation Army b... but brand new... from the local Costco."

Ryan looks at Anne and offers a small smile, recalling how special he felt getting something that hadn't been previously worn by someone else.

"I was so excited to wear the shirt. I asked her if I c... could wear it at d... dinner and she said 'yes'."

Anne listens intently, so far enjoying the story of a little boy and his brand new shirt. But a nagging voice lingers ominously in the back of her mind, telling her the tale will probably not end well.

"She m... made spaghetti. Not from scratch, though," Ryan clarifies, feeling somewhat embarrassed, figuring Anne's mother probably made homemade sauce, not something poured out of a jar. "It was nice... the four of us sitting around the table eating d... dinner. It didn't happen very often."

Ryan bites his lower lip and glances back down at the blood stains on the front of his shirt as the memory comes rushing over him like a tidal wave.

"I'm n... not sure how it happened, b... but I got some spaghetti sauce on the front of my new shirt."

Anne winces slightly, knowing the boy probably got punished for a harmless mishap. What person, young or old, hasn't accidentally dripped spaghetti sauce down the front of their shirt at one time or another.

"My d... dad... he g... got so mad... p... pounded his fist on the table... yelling. He threw my p... plate of spaghetti across the room. The dish shattered and the food... it was sp... splattered all over the place; the wall, the floor, the c... cupboards."

Ryan pulls his knees up close to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs as he recalls his father's wrath.

"My d... dad grabbed me by my arm and threw me down on the... on the floor. He sat on t... top of me... p... pulled my shirt up around my head... twisting it. He twisted it so t... tight... I couldn't... couldn't breathe."

Anne sits speechless as she listens to the boy's terrifying memory, wondering if it could get any worse.

"I c... could hear by mom screaming for him to s... stop but he kept yelling and trying to suffocate me. He'd tighten the shirt around my face then release it. I would gasp for air and b... beg him to s... stop, but then he would tighten it again. Over and over... and over..."

Anne lifts her glasses off her nose and quickly wipes a stray tear from her eye as she envisions the horror endured by such a young child.

"When my dad finally stopped, he sat back down at the dinner table to finish his meal. I was crying... he kept telling me to..."

Ryan flinches slightly as his father's voice suddenly pops into his head.

 _"Shut up! Shut your fuckin' mouth up! I'm tryin' to eat! I don't need to listen to your god damn pathetic cryin'!"_

Ryan rubs his forehead as he recounts a night that happened nine years ago, but seems like it happened just yesterday.

"I just sat on the floor... too scared to move for fear my dad would get angry again. When he was done eating, he ordered Trey to go to his room. My m... mom was a wreck. I remember her getting a b... bottle of vodka out of the refrigerator and leaving the room. She started d... drinking heavily around that time... I remember..."

Anne sits silently in a state of shock, finding herself at a complete loss for words. She observes Ryan as he stares blankly into the shadows; his eyes heavy and dull from the weight of the memory.

"My d... dad made me clean up the mess in the kitchen. I p... picked up the broken pieces of the plate and strands of spaghetti. I washed the sauce off the walls, the cupboards and floor. It took me almost all night. I m... made sure I d... didn't miss a spot..." Ryan lets out a long, plaintive sigh and lowers his head. "That was the last memory I had of my father before he got arrested and went to prison; that is, until six months ago..."

Anne places her hand on the back of the boy's warm neck and squeezes gently, hoping the gesture will somehow bring him comfort.

"I m... must have fallen asleep on the kitchen floor. I remember Trey w... waking me up... telling me it was time for school. He helped me clean myself up and walked with me to the bus stop. I saw the other kids at the stop, standing with their moms... some with their dads... excited for their first day of school."

Ryan sighs heavily as he quickly wipes an errant tear off his face, deciding it's time to end the story... time to bury the memory deep underground... where it belongs.

"My d... dad had already left... went someplace, I don't know where. My mom was still asleep... passed out from the booze..."

Anne slowly moves her hand away from the boy's neck and places her arm around his shoulders; gently caressing him; offering him some shred of comfort.

"I'm sorry..." Ryan whispers.

"Why are you sorry?"

"I shouldn't have told you... I d... don't know why I told you..."

"It's alright, I'm glad you did."

"It doesn't matter any more..."

"Ryan, do you tell these things to Dr. Evans?" Anne asks, not wanting the boy to sweep his memories away as if they were scraps of paper or specks of dust.

"Yeah, I talk to him. He helps. Dr. Evans is a good listener... like Sandy," Ryan says, glancing at Anne with a shy, appreciative smile. "They're both good listeners... like you."

* * *

Sandy sits in the kitchen at the breakfast bar, staring at his cell phone; his mind a jumbled haze as he wonders who could have taken Ryan.

"What about my father?" Kirsten asks as she pours three cups of hot coffee and hands two of them to her son and husband. "He's out of prison... could he be behind this?"

"Grandpa's out of prison?" Seth asks, utterly confused.

"He was released yesterday," Sandy replies, his voice weak and dull as he takes a welcome sip of the hot liquid.

"And you didn't think to tell me this?"

"Please, Seth... not now," Kirsten pleads as she rubs her forehead to stave off a headache; not having the strength to explain the reason behind her father's sudden release from prison.

Sandy glances up at the clock and sees it's close to ten in the morning, then looks down at the duffel bag on the floor, full of money.

"No, I don't believe it's Caleb," Sandy says as he looks at his cell phone again, willing it to ring.

"How can you be so sure? I know my father, Sandy... he hates Ryan. And, even more than that, he hates losing."

"I wasn't supposed to say anything, but I don't think it matters now," Sandy says wistfully, remembering the promise he made to Detective O'Brien. "The detectives are conducting a 'sting' operation. If all goes well, your father should be back in prison by the end of the day."

"And you couldn't tell me? He's my father, Sandy! I have a right to know!"

"I promised Detective O'Brien I wouldn't say anything..."

"I know my father, Sandy. A sting? A set-up? He'll scream entrapment and weasel his way out of this... just like he's done a million times before!"

Sandy looks at his wife; her eyes filled with tears as she struggles to come to terms with her father's betrayal.

"I have complete faith that Detectives Strauss and Rodriguez will come through for us," Sandy states in an effort to reassure his wife. "Your father will pay for what he did to Ryan. I swear to God, if this plan fails, I will see to it personally that Ryan gets justice. I will not stop until that man is behind bars... where he belongs."

* * *

Caleb Nichol pulls into the parking lot of the Suites Leon Rojo, a thirty-five dollar-a-night lodging in peach stucco with a facade reminiscent of a charming, Mexican villa teeming with questionable hourly rate clientele. As he dons a pair of black leather driving gloves, Caleb glances at his watch and sees it's almost ten; time to take care of business.

Caleb grabs the small attache case filled with twenty-five thousand dollars and walks up to the second floor to room 24, happy the doors are on the outside of the motel so he can bypass the clerk at the front desk. He knocks firmly on the door then clears his throat, preparing himself for the unfortunate, but necessary, meeting.

Maria hears the knock on the door and takes in a deep breath, willing herself to remain calm. She walks over to the door and briefly hesitates. She hears another knock and opens the door.

"Maria Sanchez?"

"Si."

"I'm Caleb Nichol, may I come in?"

"Si."

Maria steps back to allow the man to enter the small motel room. Standing at six-feet-two with strong, broad shoulders and encompassing an air of confidence, the man towers over Maria's petite frame, making her feel like a timid mouse.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me. As per our agreement, I'm here to give you twenty-five thousand dollars for my briefcase and, of course, your silence."

Maria looks at the stern man impeccably dressed in his expensive suit; his voice rigid with a demeanor fraught with arrogance.

"Twenty-five thousand dollars?"

"Yes, it's all right here," Caleb states as he sets his attache case on a small table and opens it, showing the woman he means business. "Now, I would like my briefcase and what's left of the money I paid a man to take his two-bit punk son far away from my family... six thousand, I believe."

Maria walks over to the window, then turns and pulls out a small, pink suitcase from underneath the bed.

Caleb glares at the pink monstrosity with a large travel sticker screaming "Vegas or bust!" plastered garishly across the front.

"What is this? Is this some sort of a sick joke? That's not the briefcase I gave to Frank Atwood!" Caleb barks, clearly unhappy with this turn of events. "I gave that no-good, worthless ex-con a black briefcase!"

Caleb immediately stops talking when he notices a mischievous smile appear on the young woman's face.

"Oops," Maria says coyly.

"Caleb Nichol, you're under arrest!" Kathryn announces as she, Rodriguez and three officers from the local police force storm into the motel room with guns drawn.

"What! You set me up?" Caleb yells at Maria, shocked at being duped.

"You have the right to remain silent," Kathryn states with authority as Rodriguez handcuffs the angry man.

"This is entrapment! I'll sue!"

"Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," Kathryn continues, ignoring the man's outburst.

"This is an outrage! I'll make sure all of you never work in law enforcement again!"

"You have the right to an attorney..."

"I demand that you uncuff me immediately! I'll have your badge for this!"

"Keep talking, old man... everything's on tape," Rodriguez says, trying not to show his inner jubilation as he yanks down on the cuffs, making sure they're secure. "No one said anything about a black briefcase, six grand or, how did you put it... that no-good, worthless ex-con, Frank Atwood? That was all you, amigo... that was all you."

Caleb sneers at the arrogant detective. "Don't call me 'amigo'."

Kathryn walks over to Maria and offers an appreciative smile.

"Es mas... is it over?"

"Yes, it's over. And you did wonderful," Kathryn states earnestly as she gives Maria a warm hug. "Thank you."

* * *

Detective Jack O'Brien paces back and forth outside Trey's hospital room, wishing he had some sort of superpower to listen through glass doors. Suddenly the door flies open and Dirk Kramer steps out along with two Chino cops and one very pissed off-looking nurse.

"How the hell am I suppose to do my job when my patient is handcuffed to the bed," Hope spits out as she slams the clipboard in a plastic slot on the wall and walks off.

 _Damn it,_ Jack curses to himself.

"Seriously don't want to mess with that one," Dirk quips as he watches Hope storm off to care for another patient.

"Has Trey been arrested for the theft?"

"No. Even though Trey had opportunity, so did everyone else in the bar during the brawl," Dirk explains to the frustrated detective. "There's just not enough physical evidence to connect Trey to the theft."

"So why the bloody cuffs?"

"The driver in the vehicle Trey hit is pressing charges."

"Please tell me Trey is insured."

"Nope... nada... nothing."

"All right, so the guy's not insured. That's worthy of a slap on the wrist and a revoked license. What the hell are you not telling me?"

"Seems the cops found a small bag of cocaine in Trey's glove compartment, possibly enough to charge for felony possession."

"You've got to be kidding me..."

"Hey, do I look like I'm kidding?"

"So, what does Trey say about it."

"He claims it's not his. He's saying the cops planted the coke in the glove compartment after he was brought here."

"And what do you think?"

"Doesn't matter what I think. The only thing that matters is what I can prove."

"Mr. Kramer, you have to let me talk to him..."

"I'm afraid I can't allow my client to talk to anyone until this matter gets resolved."

"A sixteen-year-old kid is missing and also a doctor from this hospital; a doctor who was last seen with your client!"

"Please, gentlemen... you must keep your voices down," Faith chastises, not wanting the other patients to be disturbed. "If you're going to argue, take it outside."

"My apologies ma'am," Jack states earnestly while, at the same time, staring daggers through Dirk Kramer.

"Listen, there is maybe something I can do to help," Dirk relents.

"I'm listening. Spit it out."

"You mentioned earlier you thought everything that's been happening may be tied to Trey stealing that car awhile ago," Dirk says, hoping the detective will settle down and not pummel him with his right fist.

"That's correct. It's just a hunch, though."

"I know one of the cops who interrogated Trey. He's, well how shall I put it... dirty."

"How dirty?"

"Very."

"And why would this 'very dirty' cop talk to me?"

"He'll talk to you," Dirk states as he scribbles down the name and number on the back of his business card and hands it to Jack. "If you make it worth his while."

Jack curses under his breath again as he accepts the card and watches the attorney walk away.

 _I should have listened to my mum and joined the priesthood,_ Jack thinks to himself, remembering his mother's disappointment with his chosen profession. _But, I would have lasted one week in the seminary... give or take a day or two._

Jack gets jolted out of his reverie when he feels his cell phone vibrate in his jacket pocket. He flips it open and sees a text message from his partner.

 _Got him! :-)_

Jack immediately makes his way to a quiet corner and quickly calls Kathryn back.

 _"Jack? I just sent you a..."_

"I need you back here, Kat... asap," Jack interrupts, wishing he could share in his partner's post-arrest afterglow. "I need your help. Can Rodriguez handle things down there?"

 _"Yes, of course. What's going on, Jack?"_

"It's Ryan Atwood..."

 _"What about Ryan?"_

"The lad... he's missing."


	14. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **I'm very relieved that readers are embracing Anne and Ryan's relationship. Back when I first wrote the outline for this story (a looong time ago) I had two scenarios laid out. One was that Kirsten was the one who aided Trey and ended up with Ryan in the cellar of hell and, of course, this scenario with Dr. Morrison. I've been wanting to write more interactions between Ryan and Kirsten, so hopefully I'll be able to find a place in my story to do so later.**

 **The reason I elected to go with Anne was because I had certain issues I needed to address. First, I needed someone with medical expertise so Ryan wouldn't die within the first few chapters of my story (always a plus in my book.) Second, I needed to find a way to explain the title of my story and I knew that explanation needed a more intimate conversation. I've always written Dr. Morrison as a consummate professional while on the job. If Ryan was her patient in the hospital, she would not share anything personal about herself with him. And last, I needed a strong character (who better than an ER doctor) who could endure this dire situation with Ryan, since his physical and emotional well-being is severely compromised.**

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Thirteen

Jack O'Brien sits alone on the park bench, sipping a cup of Starbuck's strongest brew while eating a blueberry muffin. He glances down at the folded newspaper next to him and sighs.

 _This better work,_ Jack thinks to himself, feeling he's come to a virtual dead end in his search for the missing teenager.

Jack spies a gray pigeon out of the corner of his eye. Intrigued by the intelligent bird, he watches as it makes its way closer to the bench.

"You probably want a bite of my muffin, don't you," Jack says to the bird, happy for the company while he waits for his 'guest'. "I'll tell you what, I will give you a piece of my muffin if you fly off and find the lad for me."

Jack tosses a small crumb onto the ground and watches the bird immediately devour it as if it hasn't eaten in days.

"The lad is sixteen, five eightish with dark blond hair and blue eyes. He was last seen wearing blue jeans and a light blue, long sleeve Henley," Jack says as he tosses another crumb on the ground for his new avian friend. "Just look for the color blue."

Suddenly the bird flies off and Jack senses he's no longer the only person sitting on the park bench. He glances over at a man in his mid to late thirties, dressed in black pants and gray sport coat with dark, thinning hair and black goatee.

"Cop?" the man asks as he nonchalantly places his hand on top of the newspaper.

"Detective, Newport Beach."

"Internal Affairs?"

"Just a man looking for a missing teenager," Jack replies, hoping the cop won't feel it's too risky to talk and decide to leave. "I don't care about any bribes you may have taken in the past or evidence you may have planted to get some scumbag off the street..."

Jack glances down and sees the man pull the newspaper in closer to himself.

"Check out the sports section."

"March Madness... you a basketball fan?" the cop asks as he discreetly takes the folded sports section and opens it slightly, noting five one-hundred dollar bills neatly tucked inside.

"Soccer."

"Right..."

Jack takes another sip of his coffee and finishes what's left of his muffin. "Trey Atwood... sound familiar?"

"Car theft... black Camaro, if I remember correctly..."

"I'm interested in the interrogation after his arrest," Jack says staring straight ahead, not wanting to make eye contact with the man too quickly.

"Hmmm... why, may I ask?"

"I'm looking for his younger brother... he's gone missing."

"I wasn't one of the arresting officers, just part of the interrogation team. But I seem to recall a younger brother getting arrested along with Trey. Kid was sent off to juvie, I believe."

"Well, now he's out."

"Possible runaway?"

"No, not a runaway."

"Foul play?"

"None that we know of... yet."

"How long has he been missing?"

Jack looks down at his watch and sees it's getting close to noon. "Eleven hours, thirty-five minutes and... forty-seven seconds."

"Not long enough for the Department to get involved," the cop acknowledges as he takes the folded sports section and carefully tucks it inside his jacket. "What does Trey's interrogation have to do with his brother missing?"

"While searching for the lad, I've learned that Trey owed someone money... two grand," Jack explains as he tosses his garbage into the bin next to him. "I'm just working a hunch... maybe that debt was tied to his last arrest?"

"Why don't you just ask Trey?"

"Trey is... unavailable, at the moment."

Jack listens as the man utters a deep sigh under his breath, believing now his hard earned money has been well spent.

"I've hit a brick wall. I'll take anything... a name, an address, a phone number..."

"Through our sources, we found out Trey owed a drug dealer some money... two grand," the cop reluctantly explains. "We figured Trey was stealing the Camaro to help repay the debt."

"Go on..."

"This drug dealer... he's bad news. We didn't care about the car theft and we were willing to drop all charges if Trey would testify against the guy."

"I take it Trey didn't bite."

"Hell no, and that's the problem! No one will cross this guy for fear of retaliation. Trey 'lawyered up' but we kept on him, hoping he'd have a change of heart," the cop says, recalling the interrogation. "All we need is one person to come forward. Then we can get a search warrant for his house. So far, this drug dealer's always been one step ahead of us and everyone's so goddamn afraid of him... No one will cross him."

"So this drug dealer, what would he do... bust a few knuckles?"

"Hah, I wish," the cop replies with a smirk and light chuckle. "About a week before Trey was arrested, we found a body out in the desert. Looked like he had been out there for awhile. His throat had been slit and a certain male appendage was, well... how shall I put it... missing."

Jack cringes slightly and immediately crosses his legs as he swallows to keep his blueberry muffin from re-emerging in his throat.

"There wasn't any evidence to tie this drug dealer to the murder but word on the street was he did it. We just need one person... one fuckin' person to come forward, but everyone's too damn scared."

"Don't blame them..."

"The guy's been building quite a reputation. On the street, they're starting to call him 'Slitter'."

"Charming," Jack utters. "Does this 'Slitter' have a real name?"

"Ramon Cruz."

Jack quickly takes his notepad and pen out and jots down the name. "Got an address?"

"Listen, if you think Ramon Cruz has your missing kid, you're stepping into some very dangerous territory," the cop says as he writes down an address on the front section of the newspaper and hands it to Jack. "You may want to think about some backup."

"At this point, I really don't know what to think..."

"What's the kid's name?"

"Ryan Atwood. Sound familiar?"

"Ryan Atwood. The kid who was kidnapped by his lunatic, sociopath of a father? That Ryan Atwood?" the cop asks, recalling the case vividly. "I never connected that kid to Trey..."

"The lad... he's been through hell, literally," Jack explains, thinking back to when he and Kat investigated the abandoned warehouse; the unthinkable prison of horror the boy's own father locked him and left him in... to die. "I'm very concerned about the lad's mental state..."

"If Ramon has him, I'd be concerned about his physical state," the cop adds as he stands up and begins to take his leave. "Good luck, Detective. I hope you find the kid."

* * *

"D... did you see that?"

"See what?" Anne asks, confused yet concerned.

"I thought I saw something m... move... over there."

Anne peers across the dimly lit room, searching intently but sees nothing; the corners and walls obscured by shadows cast by the flickering lightbulb.

"I don't see anything," Anne says. "I can go over there and..."

"No, don't!" Ryan interrupts as he places his arm in front of Anne to keep her from getting up. "It m... might be a r... rat. You need to k... keep your legs in close to your body so they w... won't climb up your legs."

"Ryan, there are no rats in here," Anne states gently, hoping the boy will take her word. "You're just imagining..."

Anne immediately bites her tongue, wishing she had phrased her words differently.

"What I meant to say..."

"Do you think I'm crazy?" Ryan interrupts as he rubs his eyes and peers into the shadows, searching for movement as he begins to question his sanity.

"No... heaven's no! You're not crazy," Anne reassures as she gently rubs the back of Ryan's neck, hoping to calm the boy down. "You're injured... you've lost a lot of blood and you're in pain. Combine that with everything you've been through..."

"It's not the first time I've thought I've seen s... something that wasn't there," Ryan admits softly, recalling the numerous times he had thought he was dreaming only to discover he was never really asleep.

"Have you talked to Dr. Evans about this?" Anne asks, realizing the boy has been suffering from post-traumatic stress. "Have you told Sandy and Kirsten?"

"I've talked to Dr. Evans, b... but Sandy and Kirsten are going through enough right now, you know... with C... Caleb's trial s... starting soon," Ryan stutters as he lowers his head and sighs. "They don't need to hear about my problems..."

Anne's heart sinks as she listens to the boy's words; his voice soft and melancholy as he attempts to downplay his emotional pain.

"Ryan, there is no evidence of rats in this basement," Anne assures as she moves her hand down to the boy's tense shoulder and squeezes gently.

Anne waits a few moments, willing the boy to turn his head and look at her.

"Ryan, I would never lie to you. The only rat in this house is the two-legged one upstairs," Anne says, glancing towards the basement door. "You need to trust me."

"I do trust you," Ryan replies softly as he looks at Anne, offering the doctor a small smile before turning his head back to continue casing the dark corners of the basement.

 _But you could be wrong..._

* * *

Jack sits in his car and takes out his cell phone to call his friend, Grayson Birch.

"Gray... Jack O'Brien here," Jack states when his ex-colleague answers his phone.

 _"Jack, how goes your search?"_

"At this point, I think they'll find Jimmy Hoffa before I find the lad."

 _"That good, huh... how can I help."_

"I need to pay a visit to a drug dealer, but it could be dangerous. I'd like to ask the CPD for some back-up, just one squad car..."

 _"You're in, Jack. I talked to the Captain. Told him you were looking for a missing kid. As soon as I mentioned it was Ryan Atwood, he was one-hundred percent on board."_

"Really? That's great!"

 _"He remembers that case vividly... has two teenage boys himself. That kidnapping affected a lot of people, Jack. Call him if you need help."_

"Thanks, Gray. I owe you one."

 _"Just find the kid, alive and well. Then we'll go out for some single malts and reminisce about the good old days..."_

Jack smiles as he ends the call to his friend, then searches for the number of Ryan's cell phone.

 _Mr. Cohen should be home by now_ , Jack thinks to himself, feeling the need to give the man an update on his progress. _I hope he still has the lad's phone. I really don't want to tie up his line..._

* * *

"It's too m... much..."

"What's too much?"

"Money..."

"I don't understand," Anne says quietly, hoping the boy will explain his thoughts.

"The r... ransom... the Cohen's shouldn't p... pay it..."

Anne studies the boy as he continues to stare into the shadows, looking for rats that aren't there and worrying about money; feeling he's not worth the expense.

"What do you think would be a fair price for you?" Anne asks, hoping if she can get the boy to talk openly, he'll begin to understand what's most important.

"Huh?" Ryan questions, suddenly confused.

"How much? What do you think you're worth?"

Ryan bites his lower lip and lowers his eyes as he contemplates the doctor's question.

"I don't know..."

"Surely there's some amount..."

"I said I don't know."

Anne listens as the boy curtly dismisses the question and cuts the conversation short.

"Ryan, the simple truth of the matter is, the Cohen's love you."

"But, what about you? AJ might not let you go..."

"I'm putting my faith in the police," Anne states with utter conviction. "It's like going to the doctor when you're sick. You have to trust that person to do their job and make you well. I'm trusting that the police will do their job and bring us both to safety."

"I still d... don't think the Cohen's should have to pay so much..."

"This is what I know, Ryan," Anne states as she wraps her arm around the boy's shoulders and gently pulls him in closer to herself. "The Cohen's don't need a bigger house, another fancy car or, I don't know... more stuff."

Anne leans in and gently kisses the side of the boy's head. "What the Cohen's need, Ryan... is you."

* * *

AJ checks his watch, noting it's well past noon.

 _Time to call back Mr. Hotshot lawyer,_ AJ thinks to himself as he opens the front door to return to the payphone he used to make his ransom call. _He should have my money by now._

"What the fuck?"

AJ immediately closes the front door when he spots a patrol car parked across the street.

"No, no, no... this cannot be happenin'... goddamn it!"

AJ paces back and forth in the small entryway, cursing anything and everything he can think of to curse.

"He called the cops? He called the fuckin' cops?" AJ spits out as he takes Ramon's cell phone to call Sandy Cohen. "That damn lawyer's gonna pay for this... that damn kid's gonna pay!"

* * *

Sandy lets out a wistful sigh and rubs his hands over his tired eyes. He glances over at Ryan's cell phone laying on the breakfast bar where they left it, then looks at his phone and stares at it, still willing it to ring. Suddenly, Ryan's phone rings jolting Sandy, Kirsten and Seth to attention.

"I wonder who that could be?" Kirsten asks nervously.

"Do you want me to answer it, Dad?" Seth asks. "It could be someone from school..."

"No, I'll answer it," Sandy states as he takes in a deep breath and answers the phone.

 _"Mr. Cohen, Jack O'Brien here."_

"Detective... what can I do for you."

 _"I've got a lead on the person Trey owed money to... checking it out now."_

"Really? Do you think it has something to do with Ryan?" Sandy asks, feeling bad about keeping the truth from the detective but knowing he has no choice.

 _"I'm not sure, but it's a start..."_

Sandy becomes startled when his cell phone suddenly starts ringing.

"Hold on , Detective," Sandy says as he puts Ryan's cell phone down on the breakfast bar and answers his phone.

 _"What in the fuckin' hell do you think you're doin'! Callin' the cops! That was a bad move, mister... a seriously bad move..."_

"Wait... what? I didn't call the cops," Sandy says in a state of confusion.

 _"Well, there's two cops sittin' in a squad car right across the street. And now I see some middle-aged dude gettin' out of a car and walkin' this way. Got 'detective' written all over him. Here, I thought you cared about that mangy good-for-nothin' kid..."_

"I do care! You have to believe me!" Sandy pleads, realizing Jack has stumbled onto the house where the kidnapper is keeping Ryan. "I'll fix this. Just... just hold on... don't do anything rash!"

"Sandy, what's going on?" Kirsten asks in a state of panic. "Is it about Ryan? Is he alright?"

Sandy puts his cell phone down and quickly picks up Ryan's phone as he holds up his other hand to silence his wife.

"Detective, you must turn around this instant and leave. You cannot go to that house!"

 _"What? I don't understand. This is a good, solid lead, Mr. Cohen."_

"Please, you can't... please, you need to..."

 _"What are you not telling me? Spit it out, Mr. Cohen!"_

"The man inside the house... he has Ryan!" Sandy blurts out.

 _"You knew this and didn't tell me? What in god's name were you thinking!"_

"A man called me when we were at Kramer's. He's asked for two million. He said he would kill Ryan if I went to the cops."

 _"They always say that!"_

"I've got the money right here, Detective, and the kidnapper is on the other line. I told him you would walk away. Please, Detective..."

Jack glances over at the house and notices someone peering through the crack of the boarded up front window.

 _"I'm walking away now, Mr. Cohen. Talk to the kidnapper. Make sure he understands I'm retreating."_

Sandy picks up his cell phone and takes in another deep breath.

"The detective is walking away. He didn't know you had Ryan. I didn't tell him... I swear to God."

 _"Yeah... I see him walkin' away..."_

"I've got your money. Please, we can still do this."

 _"You tell the detective that you, and only you, are gonna deliver the cash..."_

"All right, I'll tell him right now," Sandy says as he switches over to Ryan's cell phone.

"Dad, what's happening? Is Ryan alright?"

"Hush!"

 _"Hush?"_

"Not you, Detective... my son."

 _"All right, this is what you're going to do. You have the two million?"_

"Yes, it's right here in a duffel bag... next to me."

 _"Detective Strauss should be back by now. I will instruct her to come by your place and pick you up. She'll bring you to me, here in Chino."_

"All right..."

 _"I'll have two officers stationed at your home. Your wife and son are to remain at the house. They cannot, for their safety, leave under any circumstances. Do I make myself clear?"_

"Yes, very clear..."

 _"You will give the kidnapper my name and cell number. If he wants his two million, he's going to have to negotiate. You need to impress upon him how crucial it is that he contacts me. Do you understand?"_

"Yes, I understand... completely."

 _"All right, Mr. Cohen, you're a lawyer. It's time to put your negotiating skills to use. I'm counting on you..."_

"You can count on me, Detective..."

 _"Good, because I believe the proverbial 'shit' has just hit the fan. Do not fail me, Mr. Cohen."_

Sandy ends his call with the irate detective, then picks up his phone to address the even more livid kidnapper.

"Are you still there?"

 _"Yeah... so what's it gonna be? You bringin' me my money, or am I gonna have to take my anger out on the kid."_

"I'm coming out there right now with the money. But, you need to contact Detective Jack O'Brien. He wants to negotiate..."

 _"I ain't negotiating..."_

"Please, if you want your money, you have to be open..."

 _"Fine! Just bring me my fuckin' money!"_

Sandy breathes a small sigh of relief as he tells the man the detective's cell number.

"You need to call Detective O'Brien... otherwise, I'm afraid they won't let us go through with our deal."

 _"Oh, you'll come through with our deal, Mr. Hotshot lawyer. 'Cause, if you don't, that kid will suffer._ _ _I will beat that kid... I'll beat him to a bloody pulp._ I'll make him plead for mercy. You hear me? I'll make sure he screams so loud, they'll be able to hear him on the fuckin' coast! If I hurt him, it's your fault! If he dies, it's on YOU!"_

Sandy listens to the abrupt "click" of the call ending and shudders as he lets out a heavy sigh. He places both phones down, then rests his elbows on the breakfast bar and covers his face in the palms of his hands.

 _Oh, dear Lord,_ Sandy laments to himself as he rubs his tired, tear filled eyes. _What have I done..._


	15. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **This chapter jumps around a bit as I juggle multiple scenarios. Everything will eventually come together, I hope. ;-)**

 **Any new characters I'm introducing are minor and just there to fill needed roles to propel my story forward.  
**

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Fourteen

Jack O'Brien rushes back across the street over to the patrol car and leans his head inside the open window.

"Officers, we have a hostage situation!" Jack barks out, knowing time is of the essence.

Both cops immediately jump out of the vehicle, startled by the detective's announcement but ready to take orders.

"You, Officer..."

"Ortega, sir."

"Officer Ortega, call your Captain and apprise him of our situation. Also, get the SWAT team here, ASAP!"

"Yes, sir!"

You, Officer..."

"Simmons, sir."

"Officer Simmons, we need to evacuate all of the houses on the block except for that one," Jack states, pointing at Ramon's house. "We need to barricade the street and set up a perimeter. Let's go!"

Jack watches the two young cops immediately jump into action, then glances down at his cell phone.

 _Come on, Ramon... call me. Please... just call me,_ Jack pleads to himself, knowing every minute that ticks away is one less minute he'll have to negotiate Ryan's safe release. _I know you have the lad. Just call me. No one has to get hurt..._

* * *

AJ paces back and forth, occasionally peeking through the open crack in the boarded up front window. He notes the mounting commotion outside, then makes a beeline into the kitchen.

"It's after noon," AJ mumbles to himself as he opens the refrigerator and grabs a bottle of beer off the top shelf. "I seriously need a drink..."

AJ opens the cold brew and guzzles down half the bottle, then belches up a putrid mix of air and acid from his stomach.

"Negotiate, my ass!" AJ spits out as he continues to stomp around the kitchen, feeling his blood pressure rise at the mere thought of dealing with cops.

AJ gulps down the rest of his beer, then angrily throws the bottle into the garbage.

"First, I'm gonna blow off a little steam... have me some fun," AJ tells himself as he digs the key to the padlock out of his pants pocket. "Then maybe... just maybe, I'll feel like negotiatin'."

* * *

"Try not to beat yourself up over this, Mr. Cohen," Kathryn says as she passes a slow minivan on her right, glancing over at the distraught man sitting next to her in the car. "You reacted as any parent would."

Sandy offers a small smile to the detective, appreciating her effort to console him. He notes her deep, blue eyes; soulful and kind, just like Ryan's.

"Detective O'Brien sounded pretty angry over the phone," Sandy says, recalling the one-sided, heated conversation.

"Detective O'Brien always sounds angry."

Sandy rubs his tired eyes and lets out a long sigh. He glances out the passenger side window; the passing scenery no more than a blur as his thoughts focus on Ryan.

"So you have no idea who has Ryan?" Kathryn asks, breaking the silence. She knows she can't call her partner for details. It would tie up his phone.

"No, not a clue. Detective O'Brien believes it's some guy Trey owes money to," Sandy replies, still confused how Ryan could have gotten caught in the middle. "My wife thought maybe her father was behind it... hired another goon to take Ryan away from us."

"Well, Caleb Nichol will be spending the rest of his natural life behind bars," Kathryn states, still feeling a sense of euphoria from making the arrest.

"Are you sure?" Sandy asks, knowing Kirsten's concern that her father will try to wriggle out of his latest predicament.

"It won't even go to trial. He won't win," Kathryn states emphatically. "His best bet will be to plea bargain. He might get parole... in twenty years."

Sandy can't help but smile to himself as he pictures his father-in-law clad in an orange jumpsuit, surrounded by actual, bona fide criminals and eating the California Department of Correction's idea of gourmet meals off cheap, plastic trays.

"I hope they serve everything smothered in cilantro," Sandy whispers, wallowing in the thought.

"Smothered in what?" Kathryn asks, not having heard the last part of the man's statement.

"Cilantro," Sandy repeats. "My father-in-law despises cilantro."

"I'll definitely find out if I can get cilantro added to the DOC menu," Kathryn says as she exits the freeway and drives into Chino, following the GPS to her partner's location.

"Has Detective O'Brien done anything like this before?" Sandy asks, hoping Jack isn't in over his head. "Has he ever negotiated with kidnappers?"

"Yes, he has," Kathryn replies with confidence. "If I was being held hostage, I can't think of anyone else I would want in my corner negotiating for my safe release."

Sandy lets out a small sigh of relief, then suddenly blinks away an errant tear.

 _We're all in your corner, Ryan,_ Sandy thinks to himself as Detective Strauss pulls up to a police barricade and flashes her badge.

 _Please, hang in there, kid... I'm here now._

* * *

Anne quickly looks up as the basement door flies open; the muted daylight from the kitchen silhouetting the large, ominous figure, making the presence seem more like monster than man.

"It's beginning to look like a fuckin' three ring circus outside!" AJ wails as he descends the creaky staircase.

Ryan glares at the man, watching him quickly approach and bracing himself for what will, inevitably, happen next.

AJ leans down and grabs a fistful of Ryan's hair, then jerks the boy's head back and growls, "I hate the circus!"

"Let go of him," Anne orders, angry at the man's violent behavior. "He's injured. He's done nothing to you!"

"Shut up, bitch!" AJ hollers as he slaps Anne across her face with the back of his hand. "I wasn't talkin' to you!"

"Don't hit her!" Ryan shouts as he attempts to push the brutish boor away.

"Don't hit her? Ooh, whatcha gonna do 'bout it, little man," AJ taunts, knowing Ryan will continue to defend the woman, just as he's done countless times before with his own mother.

"D... don't touch her, you son-of-a-bitch!" Ryan cries out, feeling the anger rising inside him.

AJ grabs Ryan by his arms and lifts him up off the floor, then slams the boy hard against the cold, cement wall.

"What did you just call me?" AJ snarls, his voice snide yet threatening as he pins the teenager against the wall.

"Ryan, don't... don't antagonize him," Anne pleads as she scrambles to her feet.

"A son-of-a bitch," Ryan states, ignoring the doctor's words of wisdom. "You're a loser, AJ... nothing more than a lazy d... drunk who likes to b... beat up women!"

AJ clenches his teeth and seethes with anger; his face becoming bright red as his blood pressure rises.

"I always liked you better when you didn't talk," AJ spits out as he thrusts his large fist into the boy's gut.

Ryan gasps in agony and buckles over as he fights back the pain and nausea, trying desperately not to pass out.

"Stop it!" Anne pleads as she attempts to pull AJ away from the helpless boy.

"You always did like to mouth off!" AJ hollers as he straightens Ryan back up and smacks the boy hard across his face.

Ryan cries out in pain as blood spurts out from his nose and mouth; the room spinning out of control as his legs begin to buckle beneath him.

"Don't! You're going to kill him!" Anne screams with tears filling her eyes; her face still stinging from the slap as she looks frantically around the room for something... anything she could use for a weapon.

"You're a worthless piece of trash just like that tramp mother of yours!" AJ snarls as he places his large hands around Ryan's already bruised neck and squeezes just hard enough to make the boy start choking for air.

"Please, stop! You're killing him!"

Anne notices the silhouette of a gun under AJ's shirt; the weapon shoved securely in the back waistband of his pants. She briefly entertains the idea of snatching the gun... _But, if I fail, it will just make him angrier,_ Anne thinks to herself as she decides against the idea. _Plus, I've never even held a gun before let alone used one. I'd probably end up shooting Ryan..._

Ryan clenches AJ's wrists and tries desperately to pull the man's hands off from around his neck as he continues to gasp for air.

"When Dawn had me throw your sorry ass out onto the street, you were supposed to get hit by a fuckin' truck!" AJ yells, remembering, with envy, how the kid ended up in Newport Beach living the good life instead of laid out on a cold, steel table at the city morgue, covered in a white sheet and garnished with a toe tag.

"S... sorry... to... dis...disa...p... point... you..."

"If he dies, you get nothing!" Anne screams as she grabs the plastic first-aid kit off the floor and slams it into the side of AJ's head.

AJ hollers in pain as he releases his grip from around Ryan's neck and immediately starts rubbing his throbbing head.

Anne immediately runs over and grabs ahold of Ryan, carefully easing the coughing, unsteady boy down into a sitting position.

"Jesus Christ, woman! That hurt!"

Anne ignores the complaining man and retrieves the first-aid kit, finding his lamenting about pain quite pathetic.

"Ryan, hold still... let me see," Anne says soothingly as she gently dabs his bruised face with an antiseptic wipe to clean away the blood.

"I'm gonna get a colossal headache 'cuz of you!"

"What did you expect me to do, huh? Watch you kill the boy?" Anne asks in frustration, turning away from Ryan briefly to glare daggers at the man. "You tasked me with keeping Ryan alive, so shut the hell up and let me do my job!"

Anne immediately turns her attention back to Ryan, praying the man doesn't notice her trembling hands and tear filled eyes. Suddenly, her head gets yanked back as AJ grabs hold of her ponytail.

"Fine, bitch... I'll let you do your fuckin' job," AJ utters in Anne's ear; his hot, stale breath piercing her senses. "There's a phone call I gotta make anyways."

AJ makes his way back upstairs, still rubbing the side of his throbbing head; eager to help himself to Ramon's stash of pain relievers.

Anne jumps slightly when she hears AJ slam the basement door and secure the padlock, then focuses her full attention on Ryan.

"Ryan, look at me... come on, I need to see your eyes..."

Anne gently cups Ryan's chin with the palm of her hand and holds his head steady while she quickly looks him over.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Anne asks, flashing Ryan the peace sign.

"T... two..."

"Let me see your teeth. Open your mouth, Ryan."

"I just b... bit my lip..."

Anne carefully pulls the boy's swollen lower lip down, then runs her finger under his upper lip, making sure his teeth are intact. Relieved to find no cracked teeth or other damage to the inside of his mouth, Anne continues to apply antiseptic to his open cuts.

Ryan hisses as the doctor dabs his lower lip with the stinging fluid but remains still, allowing her to tend his wounds.

"W... what about you? Are you okay?" Ryan asks, concerned the woman may be injured.

"Who me? I've been hit worse," Anne says, not wanting the boy to worry about her.

Ryan's eyes widen with concern as he attempts to sit up straighter.

"It's not what you think," Anne quickly clarifies, knowing the boy is assuming she's been abused like his mother. "It was around ten years ago... a Saturday night and I was working in the ER.

"What... what happened?"

"We got a call in from the paramedics. They were en route with a victim of multiple gunshot wounds," Anne explains as she shakes an instant ice pack and gently presses it against the boy's swollen lip. "He was high on PCP and was strapped down to the gurney. As we were removing the man's clothing, somehow he freed his arm from one of the restraints and socked me square in the mouth."

Ryan listens intently, picturing the chaotic scene in his mind as Anne removes the ice pack from his mouth and places it on his cheekbone.

"Cracked both of my front teeth... had to get them capped," Anne says, smiling to show off her expensive dental work.

Ryan tries to return a small smile but his numb lips barely move from the cold left from the ice pack.

"Let me see your neck."

"It's f... fine..."

Anne sets the ice pack down and rubs her hands briskly over her pant legs to warm them before placing her fingers gently against Ryan's neck.

"Can you swallow for me?" Anne asks, ignoring the boy's medical assessment as she softly grazes her fingers over his Adam's apple and down to his collarbone.

Ryan does as he's told and swallows, hoping the doctor will be appeased.

"I'm not d... doing a very good job pro... protecting you," Ryan says softly as he coughs a few more times to clear his throat; wishing he had the strength to run up the stairs, kick the door open and beat AJ into submission.

Anne offers the boy a small smile, then runs her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.

"Sometimes you have to let others do the protecting," Anne states, hoping the boy isn't thinking about doing anything rash. "The police are here now. They know AJ is holding us hostage. He's not going to win."

Ryan lowers his head and sighs, wishing he could believe the doctor's words.

"And, I'm not going anywhere. You have my word," Anne states as she places her hand under the boy's chin and gently lifts his head to make eye contact. "I promise you, Ryan, I'm staying right here. I'm not going to leave you."

* * *

"Kat, you made it!" Jack calls out when he sees his partner walking briskly towards him with Sandy Cohen in tow.

"Give me an update, Jack!" Kathryn orders as she and Sandy approach a black SUV.

Sandy looks around the area and notes a sea of squad cars with lights flashing along with police officers kneeling behind the open car doors with guns drawn. He scurries to keep up with the fast-paced detective as they pass two black vans before arriving at their destination.

"This is Capt. Dale Edwards from the CPD," Jack says, introducing his partner and Sandy to the man he hopes will be more help than hinderance. "Captain, this is my partner, Kathryn Strauss, and this is Sandy Cohen."

"Pleased to meet you," Dale says as he first shakes Kathryn's hand, then Sandy's. "Mr. Cohen, let me assure you we are going to do everything we can to get Ryan out of there safely."

"Thank you, Capt. Edwards," Sandy replies with appreciation.

"The houses on the block have been evacuated and the perimeter has been set up," Jack continues, getting his partner up to speed.

"This is Mark Jeffries, our SWAT Team Leader," Dale introduces when a man, in his mid-thirties with the physique of a Navy Seal, approaches the group. "Report."

Mark lays out a large sheet of paper on the hood of the SUV, then takes out a black marker from his vest coat pocket.

"There's a back door, probably locked; most likely leads into a mudroom or kitchen," Mark says as he draws a rudimentary sketch of the house. "Windows are all closed. Blinds and curtains are drawn shut."

"Anything else?"

"The carport has a pickup truck and a motorcycle," Mark continues as he draws a building in close proximity to the house, "and there's two more motorcycles parked behind the carport."

"And we count another pickup truck and two cars parked alongside the house," Jack adds, wondering how many more people are inside with Ramon.

"There could be any number of people inside that house... maybe even women and children," Kathryn says, knowing these drug dealers can have their families living amongst them. "Do you know who's holding Ryan?"

"We believe it's a drug dealer Ryan's brother, Trey, owes money to... a 'Ramon Cruz'," Jack replies. "Mr. Cohen, does that name ring a bell?"

"No, I've never heard of him, but..."

"But, what?" Jack asks, sensing the man has something to add.

"The man I spoke to on the phone... he wasn't Hispanic," Sandy says, recalling not even a hint of a Spanish accent. "But, of course, this 'Ramon Cruz' may not have an accent."

"Oh, he has an accent," Dale chimes in, remembering the drug dealer being questioned regarding a number of offenses; then released, due to a lack of evidence. "A very thick, Spanish accent."

"So, there's at least two that we know of holding the lad hostage," Jack concludes, looking at his phone and wishing one of the kidnappers would call him.

 _It's been over an hour,_ Jack thinks to himself. _What in God's name are they doing in there..._

"Mr. Cohen, do you have any idea who you were talking to?" Kathryn asks, noting the worry etched deep in the face of a father trying to make some sense of what is happening.

"No, but... it's strange. I felt like it was personal."

"Personal?" Jack asks, intrigued by the man's revelation. "Personal, how?"

"It's something the man said... like he knew Ryan. And me. I felt like he knew me... my relationship with Ryan... I don't know..."

"Do you remember his exact words?" Kathryn asks, urging the man to be more specific.

"He said something like 'you do not want to know what I'll do to that kid... what I've done to that kid,'" Sandy replies, feeling a sense of dread come over him as he hears the man's ominous voice inside his head when he repeats the words. "He called me on my cell phone. Only my family, colleagues and close friends have that number. He didn't want to call me at home. He wanted to speak directly to me. Ryan must have given him my number... oh God, he was probably coerced..."

Suddenly, there's a ringing sound and all eyes focus on Jack's cell phone.

Jack takes in a deep breath, then picks up his phone and holds his hand up, signaling for silence.

"This is Detective Jack O'Brien..."

 _"Detective O'Brien..."_

"With whom am I speaking with?"

 _"Do you got the money?"_

"I do, but I don't deal with anonymous..."

 _"AJ... my name is AJ."_

Jack immediately scribbles down the letters "AJ" on the large sheet of paper, then looks to Sandy for help.

 _"You still there, Jacko?"_

"I'm still here," Jack replies as he watches the color drain from Sandy Cohen's face. "I'd like to speak to Ramon."

 _"Ramon? He's a... he's busy. Left me in charge."_

"I see..."

 _"Two million for the kid. When do I... we get our money?"_

"Before you get anything, I need a proof of life."

 _"A proof of what?"_

"A proof of life. Seriously, you don't expect us to pay you if we don't even know the lad is alive."

 _"The lad? What are you, fuckin' Irish?"_

Jack takes in a deep breath and allows a moment of silence, making sure not to engage the man in idle banter.

"Give me proof the lad is still alive, then you'll get your money."

Jack hears the call abruptly end, then immediately turns to Sandy.

"Who the hell is AJ?"

"He's Dawn's ex-boyfriend."

"Dawn? Who's Dawn?" Dale asks, wanting to be clear on the facts.

"Dawn is Ryan's mother," Sandy replies.

"So she's your ex-wife?"

"No, my wife's name is Kirsten. We're Ryan's legal guardians," Sandy clarifies for the police captain. "This AJ... he's bad news. He drinks, has a horrible temper and..."

"And what, Mr. Cohen," Kathryn says as she places her hand upon the man's forearm, urging him to continue.

"He's abused Ryan on many occasions... he hates the boy."

Sandy looks back over at Jack, anxious to know what their next step will be.

"So what do we do now?" Sandy asks, not even bothering to mask his frazzled nerves.

Jack looks at the worried father and replies solemnly, "Now, Mr. Cohen... we wait."

* * *

"Proof of life... proof of life... ol' Detective Jacko wants a fuckin' proof of life!" AJ gripes as he stomps around the kitchen, waiting impatiently for the Vicodin to kick in. "I'll give him a proof of life right up his goddamn ass!"

AJ picks up a kitchen chair and hurls it across the room, sending dishes and glasses crashing to the floor.

"Fine, I can play this game," AJ growls as he grabs another beer out of the refrigerator and quickly downs half the bottle.

AJ opens up a kitchen drawer and pulls out two long strands of hemp rope cord, then makes his way over to the basement door.

"I'll give them their 'proof of life'. Then I better get my goddamn money..."

* * *

"Mom! Come here! Quick!"

"What?" Kirsten asks as she hurries into the family room, curious what her son is all charged up about.

"It's on the news... the kidnapping..."

Kirsten wraps her arm around her son and holds him close.

"Oh, my god..." Kirsten laments as she listens to the report of Ryan being held hostage; the newswoman's delivery detached and unemotional as she relays the up-to-the-minute details.

"He's going to be alright, Mom," Seth says with a shaky voice, trying to reassure himself as much as his mother. "He has to be alright..."

Kirsten remains silent as she listens to the story unfold, praying for her husband's and Ryan's safety.

"Dad will deliver the money and the kidnapper will let Ryan go," Seth continues, playing the best scenario out in his mind. "The kidnapper will let Ryan go, won't he, Mom?"

"I hope so, Seth," Kirsten says as she embraces her son's shoulders and squeezes gently. "I pray to God... I hope so."

* * *

"Tie her up," AJ orders, tossing the ropes onto the floor in front of Ryan before taking another large swig of his beer.

Ryan remains sitting on the floor as he glares at the man, defying his order.

"I said tie her up!" AJ yells as he throws the bottle against the cement wall, missing Ryan's head by mere inches; the rest of the beer splashing as pieces of glass shatter onto the floor.

AJ whips his gun out of the back waistband of his pants and points the weapon directly at Anne's head. "Tie her hands behind her back and make it tight."

Ryan glances down at the rope then over at Anne, hesitating to follow the man's order.

"I'll shoot her! You know I'll shoot!"

"Do it, Ryan," Anne orders as she scoots next to the boy and places her hands behind her back.

Ryan takes one of the ropes and begins tying the thick cord securely around the doctor's wrists; his own hands shaking as he tries to perform the simple task.

"See? That wasn't so hard," AJ quips as he places his gun back in his waistband, then grabs Ryan's arm, forcing the boy to his knees.

Ryan winces in pain as the hard floor digs mercilessly into his knees while his captor ties his hands behind his back.

"I'm gonna hold the cell phone to your ear and you're gonna talk to the detective. You say one wrong word and I'll blow the doctor's brains out."

* * *

"You mentioned a 'Dr. Morrison' is missing," Dale states, continuing his quest to understand all the facts. "And, she may be with Ryan?"

"Yes, it's a possibility," Jack replies.

"How long do we wait?" Sandy asks, becoming impatient with AJ's lack of response.

"As long as we have to," Jack replies as he stares at his phone, willing it to ring.

Suddenly the phone rings and the tension rises as everyone focuses their attention on Jack.

"Quiet everyone... not a word," Jack states as he picks up his cell phone to answer the call.

"This is Detective O'Brien..."

 _"Somebody wants to talk to ya..."_

Jack takes in a deep breath, anticipating his talk with Ryan.

 _"Hello?"_

"Hello, Ryan?"

 _"Yeah..."_

"Ryan, this is Detective Jack O'Brien. Do you remember me?"

 _"Mmm... yeah, think so... I p... punched you..."_

"Yes, you did," Jack states, smiling at the boy's recollection. "And I absolutely, one-hundred percent deserved it."

Jack listens intently, trying to pick up other voices; anything that could help shed a light as to what is happening inside the house.

"Are you hurt, lad?"

 _"Mmm... no... not really..."_

"Can you tell me, Ryan... is Dr. Morrison with you?"

 _"Yeah... she's right here..."_

Jack hears a slight scuffle, like the phone being jostled as he signals to Capt. Edwards that Anne is with Ryan.

"Get her out," Dale orders in a loud whisper as he grabs the marker and writes on the paper.

Jack glances down at the paper and reads the scribbled words "get dr. out now!", then lets out a long sigh, realizing he now has a second task to achieve.

 _"All right, you got your proof of life..."_

"I need you to release Dr. Morrison," Jack requests, deciding not to waste any time.

 _"No, not part of the deal."_

"You don't need her, AJ. But you do need a way out of this place. Have you thought about that?"

A heavy silence lingers over the phone as both men test their patience.

"You release the doctor and I'll see to it that you and Ramon get unhindered passage out of here. I'll have the street barricades removed and the police officers retreat," Jack continues, weaving what he hopes is a satisfying offer. "What do you say, AJ?"

 _"I release the doc, Sandy Cohen brings the money and I...we drive outta here without a hitch."_

"I'll deliver the money..."

 _"No! The lawyer's bringin' the fuckin' money!"_

"All right, you give me the doctor and I'll arrange for Mr. Cohen to deliver the money. That's a fair deal."

Jack hears the click of the call ending, then tosses his phone onto the hood of the SUV and sighs, "Christ, this better work."

* * *

"All right, you're comin' with me," AJ says as he grabs Anne by her arm and lifts her to her feet.

"What? No!" Anne exclaims as she attempts to free herself from AJ's firm grasp.

"Let go of her!" Ryan cries out, hating the fact he can do nothing to help the woman. Ryan struggles to stand up, using the wall to steady himself in lieu of his arms.

"Ya know... I'm sick of hearin' you bitch," AJ sneers as he smacks Ryan across his face, sending the boy falling back down to the floor.

Ryan lays on the cold, cement floor; his vision blurring as he struggles to get back up. In the background, he hears commotion and yelling as he slowly closes his eyes and succumbs to a state of unconsciousness.

"Come on, Doc! Time to go!" AJ orders as he drags the defiant woman up the stairs and out of the basement.

"Please, don't do this... let me stay with Ryan," Anne pleads.

"I don't need ya no more. Tradin' you for the lawyer," AJ explains as he takes out his pocket knife and cuts the bindings around Anne's wrists, then places the sharp blade against her neck. "Close the padlock."

Anne reluctantly does as she's told, then gasps in pain when AJ pulls her arm; twisting it behind her back.

"Now, walk!"

AJ stands behind Anne and marches the woman to the front door. He slowly opens the door a crack, then stands behind the door to open it further and pushes the doctor outside.

Anne stumbles down the front porch steps and hears the door slam behind her. Suddenly, two men dressed in SWAT team uniforms grab her by her arms and whisk her towards a group of people standing next to a black SUV.

"Let go of me," Anne orders, wresting herself out of the men's grasp.

"Dr. Morrison, are you alright?" Jack asks.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" Anne cries out.

"We got you out of there..."

"You need to send me back in, do you hear me? I have to go back!"

"That's out of the question," Dale says, somewhat surprised by the woman's ungrateful attitude.

"You don't understand! I have to get back to Ryan," Anne explains. "I told him I wouldn't leave him... I promised..."

"Dr. Morrison, we're doing everything we can to get Ryan out safely," Kathryn says, hoping the woman will see this is for the best. "And, you're going to help us. We need to know everything you know."

Anne wipes the tears of frustration off her face as a paramedic drapes a cotton blanket over her shoulders.

"I'm not injured," Anne tells the paramedic as she accepts the warmth and comfort of the blanket. "I could use some water, though."

"Dr. Morrison, how is he?" Sandy asks, his voice shaking in anticipation of the answer. "Is he alright?"

"Mr. Cohen, I'm so sorry," Anne says, realizing the man is going through a personal hell of his own. "Ryan is very brave, but I know he's scared. He is injured and needs to be in the hospital."

Anne graciously accepts a bottle of water and takes a welcome sip, wishing she could share the refreshing liquid with Ryan.

"Dr. Morrison, before we can send Mr. Cohen into that house, we need to understand what we're up against," Jack states, feeling the woman is calming down and will be more helpful.

"What do you need to know?"

"Besides Ramon and AJ, do you know who else is in the house?" Jack asks.

"Ramon? Ramon is dead," Anne replies.

"What?"

"AJ shot him."

"We haven't heard any gunfire," Mark states, confused by this new revelation as he signals two of his men over to relay the information.

"He shot Ramon last night... before you all showed up."

"Dr. Morrison, do you know if there are any other people in the house besides AJ?" Kathryn asks, praying there aren't any innocent women and children they'll need to be concerned about.

"I don't know, I wasn't paying attention. There are rooms down the hallway, but the doors are always kept shut."

"Can you give us a general layout of the inside of the house?" Mark asks, knowing the doctor's description will be far better than his guesswork.

"Through the front door is a small foyer," Anne says, placing her finger on the rough sketch of the house. "To the right is a living room. There's a hallway here... I think here's a bathroom and then probably bedrooms down here," Anne continues as she traces her finger along the drawing. "And then the kitchen is around here... there's a back door."

"That's very helpful. Thank you," Mark says in appreciation.

"I do remember there was this one young man... I think his name was Alonzo," Anne says, trying to be of more help. "He left but he could have come back. I don't know... sometimes with all the noise and stomping around, it sounded like there were twenty people upstairs."

"Upstairs?" both Dale and Jack inquire in unison.

"Yes, Ryan is being held in the basement. Please, you must get him out of there."

"Where's this basement?" Mark asks, taking the marker to update his sketch.

"It's off the kitchen... it's more like a cellar," Anne replies.

Anne looks at the people surrounding her; Detective's O'Brien and Strauss, SWAT leader Mark Jeffries, Capt. Edwards from the CPD and Sandy Cohen.

"Please, get Ryan out of there. He's injured and needs to be in the hospital," Anne reiterates as she swallows the lump in her throat and wipes away a stray tear, thinking about the boy she promised she wouldn't leave.

"Please, you have to get Ryan out of there..."

* * *

Ryan groans and blinks a few times as his eyes struggle to come into focus. He groans again as the pounding in his head worsens when he tries to move.

"Dr. M... Morrison?"

Pushing against the floor with his bound hands, Ryan presses his back against the cement wall and struggles to sit up. He waits a few moments for the room to stop spinning, then looks around searching for Anne.

"D... d... doctor? Where are you?"

 _She was here... I know she was,_ Ryan thinks to himself as he begins to question his memory. _I didn't imagine it..._

Ryan looks around and sees broken glass strewn across the floor, the first-aid kit and Anne's suit coat, still folded up into a makeshift pillow.

 _AJ must have taken her,_ Ryan thinks to himself as he slowly begins to remember what happened before passing out. _I have to help her... I can't let him hurt her..._

Ryan notices a shard of glass a few feet away. He stretches his foot out to retrieve the sharp fragment, but the glass is just out of his reach. He carefully scoots himself closer, wincing in pain at every small movement, and pulls the glass towards him with his boot. He scoots a little further and turns his body, just enough to grab the coveted prize.

Suddenly, Ryan hears a buzzing sound and glances up at the flickering light bulb.

 _No... please no... please... don't burn out..._

Ryan watches with dread as the light bulb flickers, struggling to stay lit. He hears another buzzing sound, then a soft "ping" as the light abruptly burns out; the room now pitch black, plummeting the boy into a sea of total darkness...


	16. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **A note about AJ** **: Many readers seem to want AJ to be like Ramon. I don't picture AJ using hard drugs. He drinks heavily, has a bad temper and is addicted to pain pills. I've written AJ as a hothead, abuser, and an idiot. He hates Ryan, of course, but I don't see him being a calculated, sadistic torturer. That was Ramon and one of the reasons I killed that character off. I want to keep my story "T" rated. I feel I've already pushed the rating to its limit, although I haven't received any complaints (yet).**

 **Please keep in mind Ryan is already suffering. He's been punched, kicked, strangled and stabbed. Coupled with his psychological issues, adding torture or more beatings would, to me, be just too much. Of course, please feel free to use your imaginations and take any scenario further than what I'm able to comfortably write. That's what's so wonderful about reading! :-)**

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Fifteen

Ryan sits paralyzed in the dark as he looks around at nothing but a sea of black. He feels his heart pounding out of his chest as the perspiration slowly trickles down his brow. He blinks several times to rid his eyes of the salty fluid, wishing he could use his hands.

 _I have to cut through this rope,_ Ryan thinks to himself as he positions the shard of glass in his hand and begins slicing away at his bindings.

Ryan winces in pain as the sharp edge cuts into his hand; the coarse rope rubbing against his already chafed wrists. He pauses for a moment and leans his head back against the hard, cement wall; letting out a deep sigh as he tries to keep himself from hyperventilating.

 _"Just follow my breathing. In... then out, nice and slow... nice and even."_

Ryan concentrates on the doctor's words, hearing her soothing voice in his head.

 _"Good, you're doing great. You need to trust me, Ryan."_

"I trust you..."

* * *

"All right, Mr. Cohen, you can put your shirt back on," Kathryn states as she finishes securing the bullet-proof vest over Sandy's undershirt.

Sandy puts one arm through his sleeve, then the other and starts to button up his shirt.

"My God, I'm shaking... my hands are shaking."

"Let me help, Mr. Cohen," Kathryn says as she immediately begins buttoning up the nervous man's shirt. "Are you sure you can do this? We will understand if you..."

"Oh, I can do this," Sandy interrupts, wanting to make it clear he has no intention of backing out. "I just need to relax... take a deep breath."

Kathryn smiles with admiration as she finishes buttoning Sandy's shirt. She hands him his sport coat, then retrieves a couple of small devices.

"What's that?" Sandy inquires as he dons his sport jacket.

"This is a small microphone," Kathryn explains as she secures a tiny, metal disc behind Sandy's jacket lapel. "We're cops... we like to listen in on things."

Sandy smiles with appreciation at the woman's ability to help him feel more at ease, even though the feeling is short-lived.

"Where's Detective O'Brien?" Sandy asks, realizing he hasn't seen the man for awhile.

"Detective O'Brien is in the black van over there," Kathryn replies, nodding at the vehicle as she takes another tiny gadget and positions it securely inside Sandy's ear. "He's getting up to speed on 21st century technology."

 _"Testing... testing... one, two, three... Raise your right hand if you can hear me, Mr. Cohen."_

Sandy jumps slightly when he hears Jack's voice in his ear as he slowly raises his hand to signal the detective.

Jack exits the black van, then hurries back over to Kathryn and Sandy.

"All right, Mark Jeffries and Capt. Edwards will be joining us shortly to go over the plan," Jack says. "Mr. Cohen, how are you holding up? Are you sure you can do this?"

"I'm positive, Detective," Sandy replies. "Not even an earthquake will keep me from delivering this money."

* * *

Ryan feels the bindings begin to loosen as he continues to cut through the thick cord, stopping occasionally to rest and catch his breath. Suddenly, he hears a noise coming from across the room; a scratching sound of something moving along the concrete floor. Ryan peers into the darkness but sees nothing; only an eerie black void, the coldness sending shivers down his spine.

"There are no rats," Ryan tells himself as he finally frees himself from his restraints.

 _Dr. Morrison said there were no rats..._

Ryan diligently wipes his bloodied hands on his pants, then takes in a deep breath. He suddenly gags then coughs as he breathes in the stagnant air; the stench of Ramon's decomposing corpse overtaking his senses.

 _God... please, I don't want to die in here..._

Ryan hears the noise again and turns his head in the direction of where the sound is coming. He feels his heart pounding out of his chest as anxiety courses through him; the perspiration dripping from his forehead... his breathing becoming shallow and rapid. He places his hand over his mouth, then presses his finger against the side of his nose.

 _In... then out,_ Ryan chants to himself as he struggles to keep from hyperventilating. _Slow and even..._

Ryan again hears the sound of tiny claws skittering along the hard, concrete floor.

 _I have to get to the stairs... get to higher ground..._

Ryan warily extends his right arm into the darkness and feels around the floor, searching for Anne's suit jacket.

 _I know it was here somewhere. I didn't imagine it..._

Ryan gets on his knees and continues to feel aimlessly around the area; crawling slowly in different directions hoping to find the jacket. He creeps a few more inches, feeling the rough concrete with his bloodied right hand, wincing in pain at every small movement he makes. Ryan suddenly becomes startled as his hand grazes something, then lets out a sigh of relief when he realizes it's the garment and not a rodent.

 _I should buy Dr. Morrison a new jacket. I've completely ruined this one..._

Still on his hands and knees, Ryan carefully scoots backwards, hoping to meet up with the wall. Suddenly, he hears a loud squealing sound. He scrambles to his feet, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain in his side as he takes the jacket and sweeps it over the floor.

"Get away! G... get away from me!"

 _"Ryan, there are no rats in here. You're just imagining..."_

"I'm not crazy," Ryan tells himself as he closes his eyes and concentrates on breathing slowly, trying desperately to regain his composure.

 _It's just my imagination..._

Ryan opens his eyes but is greeted with nothing but the ominous darkness of the unlit room. He slowly turns around and takes a small step, blindly extending his left arm out in search for the wall. He gingerly takes another step, then again sweeps the jacket across the floor.

 _Just in case there is a rat..._

Ryan carefully inches forward, thankful he's wearing his heavy shoes as he steps upon shards of glass, listening to the crushing sound of the material beneath his boot. Suddenly, he loses his balance as he steps onto the side of the first-aid kit. Ryan cries out in pain as he tumbles to the floor, feeling his left ankle twist in an unnatural direction.

"Damn it!" Ryan curses as he grabs his ankle, hoping it's not sprained. He continues to hold his foot, gritting his teeth against the pain as he berates himself for stumbling.

 _How can I be so damn clumsy..._

Ryan contemplates taking off his shoe, then quickly decides against it.

 _My ankle would swell up. I'd never get my shoe back on..._

Ryan lets go of his foot and gingerly gets onto his knees. Suddenly, a wave of nausea hits him as the sharp pain in his ankle courses up his leg. He bunches Anne's jacket up into a ball and holds it against his stomach. Rocking back and forth, Ryan swallows back the bile rising in his throat as he desperately tries to keep himself from heaving.

 _I can't throw up. I could rip open the stitches..._

Ryan quickly loses his battle and begins gagging; his stomach contracting violently as he clings onto the jacket, pressing the garment into his side hoping to minimize any damage to his stab wound.

 _"You better not get sick in my new truck! So help me god, I'll whip your ass, boy!"_

"No... I'm sick. You m... made me sick..."

 _You make me sick..._

Ryan crawls along the floor in the dark, his disorientation deepening as small shards of glass pierce into the tender flesh of his hands. He again begins to heave relentlessly; his abdominal muscles convulsing even though his stomach is empty.

"God, make it stop."

 _Please, make him stop..._

Ryan places his hand over his mouth and blinks away his tears as he struggles to keep from passing out; waiting for the nausea to subside.

 _I have to get to the stairs..._

Ryan takes Anne's jacket and brushes it across the floor in front of him, hoping to clear the path of debris. He again extends his arm blindly into the dark, searching for the wall; his other arm wobbling precariously beneath his weight.

 _Come on... come on... it has to be here..._

Ryan breathes a heavy sigh of relief when his hand finally touches the wall. He wraps his arm around his waist and gingerly stands up, making sure not to place all of his weight on his injured ankle. He leans his face against the cold, rough surface, then turns around and stands with his back against the wall. Knowing that he just needs to follow the wall over to the staircase, Ryan carefully moves his foot slightly to the right, then moves his injured foot, wincing in pain as he holds the jacket close to his chest.

 _"Where do ya think yer goin' boy?"_

Ryan freezes in place and tightens his grip on Anne's jacket as he feels his heart rate suddenly surge. He closes his eyes and counts to ten, waiting for his father's voice to leave his head.

"No... you're not here," Ryan whispers as he opens his eyes and proceeds to slowly inch his way along the wall in the dark.

 _You're dead..._

* * *

"All right, my men are in place," Mark states as he and Dale Edwards walk up to Jack, Kathryn and Sandy.

"Dr. Morrison is still unsure about how many people may be inside the house," Dale says, "so we need to proceed with caution."

"She is sure about one thing, though," Kathryn adds as she checks to make sure the microphone is still securely in place behind Sandy's lapel. "Ryan is injured and needs medical attention."

"So we need to act now," Mark states. "The longer we wait, the higher the chance that kid won't survive."

"I'm ready," Sandy says as he places his hand on the duffel bag. "Just tell me what to do."

"We know AJ is armed. He has knives and a gun," Jack states, hoping he's doing the right thing sending Sandy into the fray. "He'll most likely use the lad to shield himself when he tries to leave the house. If there's another kidnapper, that person will probably be the driver. Otherwise, AJ will most likely have you drive, Mr. Cohen."

"All right, I can drive..."

"No, you can't," Jack states with authority. "AJ cannot be allowed to leave that house. Do you understand me? If he does, the lad is as good as dead."

"But, you promised him unhindered passage out of here," Sandy states, somewhat confused with the order.

"Yes, I did. But I've been known to break a few promises..."

"The best chance we have to get you and Ryan out safely is to take AJ out," Mark states, noticing the confusion on the father's face. "I've got my best sniper positioned in the house across the street."

Sandy glances over at the tiny house; its front window opened slightly with the curtains drawn shut except for a small gap where the tip of a sniper rifle holds steady, waiting to be fired.

"Mr. Cohen, you need to somehow get AJ to peer through that crack of the boarded-up front window," Mark continues, watching the confusion on the man's face be replaced with concern. "My sniper only needs a couple of seconds."

"How am I going to do that?"

"You need to instill some doubt into AJ's mind," Jack tells Sandy, hoping the man will be able to come through for them and for Ryan. "Make him question whether we're really removing the barricades and retreating."

"Can you do that, Mr. Cohen?" Mark asks, needing to trust the man so everything will play out according to plan.

"I'm a lawyer," Sandy replies steadfastly. "I can think quick on my feet and talk all day long. I can do this."

"All right, then... let's not waste any more time," Dale says, wanting this situation resolved before sundown. "Mr. Cohen, don't go in there trying to be a hero. Don't try to rescue Ryan yourself. Leave that up to the SWAT team."

Sandy listens intently to the police captain as Kathryn and Jack double-check his microphones and bullet-proof vest.

"You have two tasks, Mr. Cohen," Dale continues. "First, deliver the ransom money."

"And the second?" Sandy asks, knowing what it is but wanting to hear it again.

"And second, you must get AJ to peer through that crack in the front window," Dale states as he points at Ramon's house. "Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Mr. Cohen, we'll be listening in on everything," Jack says, wanting to make sure the man knows he won't be completely on his own. "We have your back and we will get the lad out safely. You have my word."

"I'll hold you to that, Detective," Sandy states as he picks up the duffel bag full of cash and takes in a deep breath to settle his nerves.

"Good luck, Mr. Cohen," Jack says earnestly, watching as Sandy takes a step towards the small, dilapidated house.

"That is one very brave man," Dale utters as he watches Sandy slowly walk away.

"That, Captain," Jack replies, "is one very determined and devoted father."


	17. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **In this story, I've been exploring "intrusive memories" PTSD. Hopefully, it hasn't been too confusing, but if it has, then you have a sense of what Ryan is going through. ;-)**

 **More angst this chapter, but I promise things will start to brighten up soon. I hope...  
**

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I really appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Sixteen

 _I should be getting close,_ Ryan thinks to himself as he continues to slowly inch his way along the wall, stopping every few feet to rest and catch his breath. _The stairs should be around here... somewhere..._

Ryan carefully takes another step. His heart skips a beat when his foot touches something blocking his path. He gives the obstacle a gentle nudge with his foot, then quickly tenses up when he realizes what it is.

 _Ramon... oh no, I went in the wrong direction..._

Suddenly, Ryan feels something grab his right ankle.

 _"Where the hell do you think yer goin'..."_

Ryan's heart beats rapidly as perspiration drips from his brow when he hears his father's low, gruff voice. He leans the back of his head against the wall and closes his eyes.

 _He's not here... I'm just hearing things..._

Ryan feels his entire body tense as the cold hand methodically moves up his lower leg.

 _"Did I give you permission to leave, boy?"_

Ryan opens his eyes and stands in the darkness, paralyzed with fear as the large hand moves over to his left knee, then slowly up his thigh.

"Go away, you son-of-a-bitch!"

 _"Now, now... is that any way to talk to your dear ol' Pa?"_

"S... stop it! Let go of me!"

 _"Aint'cha gonna hang around a little longer?"_

Ryan cries out in agony as the cold hand clenches his injured left thigh; the sharp, bony fingers digging mercilessly into the infected wound.

 _"You think you can get away from me, boy?"_

Hot tears sting Ryan's eyes as he begins to hyperventilate, struggling to withstand the pain.

"You're n... not here! You're dead!"

Ryan gasps and tries to breathe as he struggles to keep from passing out; his ankle and thigh throbbing as the pain emanates throughout his weakened body. He suddenly hears a low, guttural laugh, then feels a hot breath waft across his face; the pungent smell of stale smoke and cheap whiskey overwhelming his senses.

 _"You can't hide from me, boy..."_

Ryan tries to move his arms but remains paralyzed with fear as the large hand moves over his hip and up to his chest.

"Don't touch me, you son-of-a-bitch!" Ryan spits out as he adamantly tries to grasp what is real and what he's just imagining.

 _"Trey ain't gonna help ya..."_

Gripping Anne's jacket tightly with his left hand, Ryan squints his eyes, struggling to see through the dark. He feels his heart pounding as the hand slowly creeps up over his chest, making its way to his neck.

 _"Your mama ain't gonna protect ya..."_

Ryan struggles to breath as the rough hand clenches his neck; the cold, bony fingers wrapping around, pressing into his bruised skin. He makes a fist with his right hand, willing it to move.

 _"When are you gonna fight, boy? Fight like a man..."_

Ryan grits his teeth as he wills his right arm to move. Using all the strength he can muster, Ryan swings his fist through the air, lashing out at his father but hitting nothing; only the hurtful words and painful memories. He loses his balance and falls on top of Ramon, then hears the deafening sound of high-pitched squealing as he senses a hoard of rats scurrying around on the floor.

"Oh God! Oh God, no..."

Ryan quickly scrambles to his feet but stumbles again when his right foot gets caught between the corpse's rapidly stiffening legs. He yanks his foot, trying to free himself as the clamor of screeching and the scraping of sharp claws on concrete become louder and louder.

 _"You always did try to run away... but I would always find ya..."_

"Let g... go! Let go of me!"

Ryan finally frees his foot and frantically makes his way through the pitch-black room, hoping to get himself as far away from the corpse as possible. He stumbles again, then hobbles along on his hands and knees searching for the wall or the staircase, anything besides the ominous void of darkness.

Stretching his arm out, Ryan lets out a sigh of relief when his hand touches the wall. He crawls a few feet to the left, then lays down in the corner; emotionally drained and physically exhausted.

 _"Your mother didn't want ya..."_

"You're wrong..." Ryan whispers as he brings his legs to his chest and curls up into a fetal position.

 _"You know, Ryan, if I had a son, I'd want him to be exactly like you."_

Ryan concentrates on the doctor's soothing words as he clutches her jacket close to his chest. Suddenly, an icy chill wafts over his body, as if some evil entity is looming over him.

 _"Nobody wants ya..."_

"That's not true..."

Ryan begins to tremble as he lays curled up on the cold floor; his clothes and hair soaked in sweat. He feels a searing pain in his side when he takes in a deep breath.

"I'm scared..."

 _"I'm right here, Ryan. You're not alone..."_

Ryan feels a warm hand softly caress his face as fingers gently graze over his forehead.

"Please, don't leave me..."

An errant tear escapes Ryan's eye and trickles down his cheek as he clutches his knees in closer to his chest; the tattered, blood-stained jacket held tightly in his arms.

 _"I promise you, Ryan. I'm not going to leave you..."_

Ryan closes his eyes and sighs; surrendering to the despair and fatigue.

 _Everybody leaves me..._

* * *

Sandy steps up to the front door and takes in a deep breath; the duffel bag filled with money clutched tightly in his hand. He contemplates on knocking but then decides against it.

 _AJ is expecting me,_ Sandy thinks to himself as he stares at the door, gathering all the courage he can muster before stepping into the lion's den. _He's not going to answer the door and usher me in with open arms and a big smile._

Sandy places his hand on the doorknob, then closes his eyes and swallows back his fear. He carefully turns the knob and opens the door, then takes a step into the dimly lit foyer.

"Close the door."

Sandy hears a voice from the living room and immediately does as he's told.

"Do ya got my money?"

Walking into the living room, Sandy sees a man sitting on the arm of a ratty old couch with a beer in one hand and a gun in the other.

"I take it you're AJ?" Sandy asks, looking around the room and noting the boarded-up window.

"Yup... and you must be Sandy Cohen, mister big-shot lawyer," AJ replies as he takes a swig of his beer, then stands up. "Thought you'd be taller."

Sandy smirks at the man's remark, wanting to make a snarky comeback but immediately deciding against it.

 _Wouldn't want to anger the idiot..._

Sandy studies the man standing before him. Tall, like Frank, with big, beefy tattooed arms and a blossoming beer belly; unshaven and from the smell, unbathed.

"So, why me?" Sandy asks nonchalantly, needing to make conversation while he figures out a way to get the man to look through the window. "There's a lot more interesting people who could have delivered this ransom."

"I just wanted to meet the sucker who took in the little shit."

"Well, here I am," Sandy replies with a wry smile. "You got me."

"I heard ol' Dawnie made your life a livin' hell for awhile. Tell me, what's happened to the drunken bitch."

"Dawn? She's actually doing quite well," Sandy replies, more than happy to share the good news. "She completed rehab and has been sober for over six months. She's living with her brother in Georgia."

"Georgia! Fuck no! Do you have any idea what the humidity is gonna do to that woman's hair?"

Sandy offers a small smile as he waits for AJ to stop laughing, then clears his throat.

"So now what, AJ," Sandy states as he takes a step towards the window. "I have your money, now give me Ryan."

"Not so fast," AJ says with a hint of distrust in his voice. "Set the bag down on the coffee table."

Sandy places the duffel bag on the coffee table, then takes a step back.

"Open it."

"What... don't you trust me?"

"It's the cops I don't trust. Now open the bag! Wanna make sure there ain't no stinkin' ink bomb..."

Sandy carefully opens the duffel bag and pulls out a wad of cash.

"See? It's all here. Nothing is booby-trapped."

AJ guzzles down the rest of his beer and sets the empty bottle on the coffee table.

"My, my... you're being a wee bit paranoid, aren't you?" Sandy taunts, knowing now how he'll let this play out.

"Who the hell are you callin' paranoid," AJ states with agitation as he points the gun at Sandy.

Sandy raises his hands up a bit and shrugs his shoulders. "Just saying... those cops out there? They must be retreating by now. What did that pompous, arrogant Irish detective promise you? An unhindered escape?" Sandy says with a slight chuckle, shaking his head at the ridiculous notion.

"Hmmph..."

"Seriously, though... why don't you just take the money and run? I'm sure the police have removed the barricades by now."

AJ lowers the gun and begins pacing back and forth.

"Come on, AJ. This is your big chance. Take the money and..."

"You're awfully anxious to see me leave," AJ interrupts, his voice laced with irritation as he points the gun back towards Sandy.

"Well, if you're not going to take my word for it, why don't you just check it out yourself?"

"Well, maybe I'll just do that," AJ states mockingly, his words dripping with contempt as he abruptly makes his way towards the boarded-up front window.

Sandy watches as AJ peers through the crack, anxiously anticipating what will happen next.

"Don't see no one... must've been tellin' the tru..."

Sandy stands frozen in place as he watches AJ instantly fall to the floor as the sniper's bullet pierces the man's skull squarely between his eyes.

 _"Stay put, Mr. Cohen. Don't move! Do you hear me? Do not move!"_

Sandy hears Jack's order inside his ear and doesn't move an inch as he looks down at the dead man; the eyes wide open staring blankly up at the ceiling as blood trickles from the hole in his forehead.

Suddenly, Sandy hears the door in the kitchen burst open, then the front door as two SWAT teams enter the home.

"CLEAR!"

Sandy watches as the uniformed men efficiently search room by room; perfectly choreographed as one officer steps forward, then another, with assault rifles drawn; ready to engage.

"CLEAR!"

"Mr. Cohen, are you alright?" Jack asks as he hurries into the living room with his own gun drawn, keenly watchful of the surroundings.

"I'm alright, Detective."

Jack immediately kicks AJ's gun away, then bends down to check for a pulse.

"Is he... is he dead?" Sandy asks.

"Yes, he's dead."

Kathryn Strauss stands in the threshold of the front door with her gun at the ready, remaining watchful of the outside of the house.

Jack dons a pair of rubber gloves, then carefully conducts a search of the body. He discovers two knives and immediately places them in evidence bags. He searches some more and finds a wallet, a bottle of Vicodin and a large key.

"We got a padlock on the basement door," Mark Jeffries says as he and his team take their positions. "Miller, find something to break the lock."

"Wait, try this," Jack says as he hurries into the kitchen with the key. "Kat, guard Mr. Cohen."

Kathryn immediately walks over to Sandy and stands in front of him; her gun held tight against her chest ready to take aim, guarding his safety.

Mark unlocks the padlock, then signals his team to proceed into the basement. He tries flipping on the light switch but nothing happens.

"Weapon and helmet lights on," Mark orders as he watches his men carefully descend the creaky, wooden staircase.

Some of the men begin gagging as the stench in the basement pierces their senses. They continue their search, each man moving methodically in different directions; the lamps on their assault rifles creating an eerie light show in the dank, dark cellar.

"Got something!" one of the men states as he shines a light over a body and bends down to check for a pulse.

"The boy?" Mark asks.

"Nah... too old."

"Alright, keep searching," Mark orders.

"What's taking them so long?" Sandy asks. "Why haven't they found Ryan?"

"Be patient, Mr. Cohen," Kathryn replies. "These men know what they're doing."

"Found the burned out light bulb," another man says, shining his helmet light up at the ceiling.

"I'm on it!" Jack states as he rushes into the living room and quickly removes a lamp shade to unscrew a light bulb. Jack hurries back over to the top of the basement stairs. "Here, try this."

Mark Jeffries takes the light bulb from Jack, then carefully moves down to the bottom of the staircase and hands it off to his team member.

Jack waits a moment for the bulb to be replaced, then flicks on the light switch.

"Jesus Christ," Jack mutters under his breath when he sees the room illuminated, realizing what Ramon used the basement for.

"Over here!" Mark exclaims as he kneels down beside the curled up body of a teenage boy.

 _Come on, kid... come on..._ Mark thinks to himself as he places his fingers on the boy's neck to check for a pulse.

"I need the paramedics in here!" Mark orders at the top of his lungs. "I need the medics now!"

"Ryan! Did they find Ryan?" Sandy asks as he tries to determine what's going on.

"Mr. Cohen, you have to..."

Kathryn finds her words cut off as the man she is supposed to protect bursts past her and runs into the kitchen towards the basement door.

"Mr. Cohen, you can't go down..."

Jack finds his warning completely ignored as Sandy rushes past him and runs down the stairs.

"Ryan!" Sandy calls out as he coughs, then gags as he places his arm across his nose. "Oh my god... Ryan..."

Tears well up in Sandy's eyes as he kneels down next to the huddled up boy.

"Help is on the way, kiddo... I'm right here," Sandy reassures as he places his hand upon Ryan's warm forehead and wills the boy to open his eyes. "You're not alone anymore."

Ryan hears a familiar voice; a friendly voice. He slowly opens his eyes and blinks a few times; his vision blurred as his eyes adjust to the light in the room.

"S... Sandy?"

"Yeah, it's me... you're going to be alright now."

"You c... came here... you're here..."

"Yes, I'm here, Ryan. I'm right here."

Sandy continues to stroke the boy's forehead as he hears the medic team make their way down the stairs.

"B... be c...careful... r...rats..."

"What did he say?" Mark asks, not fully understanding the boy's quiet mumbling.

"He said to be careful of the rats," Sandy replies as he threads his fingers through the boy's damp hair.

Mark looks around the basement and sees a corpse with rigor mortis setting in, shards of glass strewn across the floor, a bloody strand of rope and a first-aid kit.

"There are no rats in here," Mark states. "The boy was probably hallucinating."

"Excuse us, sir... we need some room," one of the paramedics tells Sandy as he begins to tend to Ryan.

"I'll be right over here, Ryan. These men are here to help you."

"Hi, Ryan. My name is Kevin," the paramedic says as he carefully tries to straighten Ryan's legs and lay him on his back. "My partner here is James. We're going to make you feel better and get you out of here. What do you say?"

"Mmmm...'kay..."

"Can I take this jacket?" Kevin asks as he gently pries the garment from Ryan's tight embrace.

"D... Dr. Morrison... Is she... is she alright?"

"Yes, Dr. Morrison is fine. I looked her over myself not too long ago," Kevin answers as he hands the jacket over to Mark to be logged in as evidence.

With nothing left to cling onto, Ryan begins shivering as his wary eyes dart around the newly lit room.

"Okay, Ryan, I need to put an IV in you," Kevin explains as James carefully uses safety scissors to cut the sleeves of the boy's shirt.

"Can't use the right arm," James tells his partner. "Too many bruises."

Kevin quickly preps Ryan's left arm and readies the needle.

"I need you to hold perfectly still, Ryan," Kevin says. "Can you do that for me?"

"Y... yeah..."

Sandy watches as the paramedics expertly perform their tasks, wondering if anyone can hear his heart beating out of his chest or sense how much he's ready to break down and cry.

 _But I can't,_ Sandy tells himself. _I need to stay strong... for Ryan._

"You're doing great, Ryan," Kevin encourages as he senses the boy tense up when he inserts the needle into his vein. "We're going to give you some fluids because you're dehydrated. James will add a little something extra to take the edge off... make you more comfortable."

"Mmm... 'kay..."

"I'm still here, kiddo," Sandy says with a heartfelt smile. "You're doing great."

"Sir, are you this boy's father?"

Sandy hesitates for a moment, knowing that he's just Ryan's legal guardian but also knowing that any day now, the adoption should become final.

"Yes, I'm Ryan's father."

"Does your son have any allergies we should be aware of?" Kevin asks before giving his partner the go-ahead to administer pain medication.

"No, I'm not aware of any allergies," Sandy replies.

James inserts a needle into the IV and administers a dose of pain medicine as Kevin places an oxygen mask over Ryan's nose and mouth. Sandy watches as the boy begins to relax; his wary eyes slowly falling shut as his body succumbs to the drug; his face looking almost at peace.

"All right, let's get this boy secured onto the gurney and out of this hellhole."

Sandy watches as the paramedics lift Ryan up onto the gurney and strap him in, then carry him up the creaky, wooden stairs. He follows closely behind them, all the way to the front door.

"May I come with Ryan in the ambulance?" Sandy asks, hoping he can stay with the boy.

"I'm sorry, but Dr. Morrison needs to ride with us," Kevin replies. "She knows what has happened to your son... his injuries. We only have room for so many in the ambulance."

"Of course... I understand," Sandy says, somewhat disappointed but grateful Dr. Morrison will be with him.

Sandy turns around and sees Jack and Kathryn standing a few feet away in the living room, talking quietly while taking notes of the crime scene.

"Detective O'Brien..."

"Pompous, arrogant Irish detective, huh?" Jack says to Sandy with a wry smile.

"Sorry about that," Sandy apologizes. "I guess I may have gotten a little carried away."

"Don't fret over it too much, Mr. Cohen," Kathryn states, not wanting the man to feel bad. "He's been called a hell of a lot worse."

"Kat, take Mr. Cohen over to the hospital," Jack says. "I want to stay here and finish up."

"Sure," Kathryn says, happy to oblige. Remaining at the crime scene with two dead men, one of them rapidly decaying in the basement, is not her idea of a good time. Plus, she's mentally exhausted from conducting the sting operation with Rodriguez down in Mexico.

"I'll call your wife, Mr. Cohen," Jack continues. "I'll inform the officers that it's safe for your family to come out here and meet you at the hospital."

Sandy extends his arm out to Jack to shake the man's hand. "Thank you, Detective. Thank you for everything."

"You're very welcome, Mr. Cohen," Jack states earnestly as he shakes Sandy's hand. "Now go... be with your family. Be with Ryan."

Jack watches as Kathryn and Sandy hurriedly leave the house. He runs his hand over his tired face, then lets out a deep sigh.

 _The lad is going to need you..._


	18. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **I know that some readers do not like Kirsten, but I always liked the character and I've written her having more maternal feelings for Ryan than what was portrayed on the show. In "To Be Seventeen", it was Kirsten who was very loving and overprotective of Ryan. I'm writing Kirsten the way I wish the character had been written on the show.  
**

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I really appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Seventeen

Sandy paces back and forth in the ER waiting room; his stomach knotted up with anxiety as he awaits word on Ryan.

"Sandy?"

Sandy turns around and sees his wife and son rushing towards him; their faces full of concern while their eyes give way to panic.

"Oh my god, Sandy... are you alright?" Kirsten asks with a shaky voice. "How's Ryan? Is he alright? Where is he? Can we see him?"

"I'm fine, sweetheart," Sandy replies reassuringly as he gives his wife and son a hug, happy to have his family with him. "Ryan is with Dr. Morrison. I was told to wait here."

"But, he's going to be alright... right Dad?" Seth asks, hoping his friend just suffered a few bumps and bruises and will be home with them by nightfall.

"He was conscious when we found him, but I really don't know anything else yet," Sandy tells his son, wishing he could give him more information.

"So who was it? Who kidnapped Ryan?" Kirsten asks.

"AJ."

"AJ... as in Dawn's ex-boyfriend, AJ?" Seth clarifies, slightly confused by the revelation.

"I thought it was some drug dealer Trey was involved with," Kirsten adds.

"I don't think it was actually planned," Sandy explains, rubbing his hands over his tired face. "But none of that matters now. Both Ramon and AJ are dead. We don't have to be concerned about them anymore."

Kirsten looks around the waiting room and wraps her arms tightly around herself. She remembers, not all that long ago, sitting with Ryan while Sandy frantically searched for a doctor; the boy in a state of shock after escaping the horror of being trapped in a warehouse with hundreds of rats and somehow finding his way to Wanda's bar.

 _He knows there are people he can trust,_ Kirsten thinks to herself, praying all the progress they've made with the boy hasn't been obliterated overnight by a couple of low-life thugs. _He trusted Wanda. He trusts Dr. Morrison and he trusts us..._

"Damn you, Trey," Kirsten whispers under her breath.

 _Damn you, Dad..._

"What, honey? Did you say something?" Sandy asks with concern.

"I was just cursing Ryan's brother. And my father... this is all their fault," Kirsten says as tears well up in her tired, blood-shot eyes. "I hate them both."

Sandy wraps his arms around his emotionally fragile wife and offers a supporting hug.

"Your father is going to prison. He will pay for what he did to Ryan," Sandy assures.

"I hope he spends the rest of his miserable life surrounded by Franks, Ramons and AJs," Kirsten says quietly.

"Well, those men are all dead, but I can see if I can arrange for your father and Trey to be cozy, little neighbors at the state penitentiary for awhile."

Kirsten offers a small smile of appreciation as she returns her husband's comforting hug.

 _I hope they all rot in hell..._

* * *

Anne Morrison gazes down at the sedated boy and runs her gloved hand over his warm forehead.

"You're safe now, Ryan," Anne whispers. "No one is going to hurt you again."

Anne carefully removes the oxygen mask the paramedics used and gently replaces it with a nasal cannula. She grazes her fingers down the boy's bruised neck, then places her stethoscope on his bare chest to listen to his heart.

"Still beating strong... you are quite the fighter, young man."

Anne glances over at Carol, the head ER nurse, and watches as she cuts the rest of the boy's clothing off then quickly cover him with a white sheet. She sees John Collins, a first-year resident, tending to the cuts on the boy's right hand, and quietly thanks whoever may be listening for such a diligent, hard-working staff.

"Nurse, the wound on his thigh needs to be irrigated and wrapped," Anne tells Carol. "Don't suture it because it's infected."

"Yes, Dr. Morrison."

"Should I suture his hand?" John asks, noticing a deep gash that could use a couple of stitches.

"He didn't have that cut when I was with him so go ahead and close it up," Anne says, wondering how the boy could have injured his hand.

 _You found a shard of glass and cut through your bindings, didn't you,_ Anne thinks to herself as she carefully cuts the gauze from around the boy's waist to check the condition of the stab wound. _You're definitely a persistent one..._

Anne sighs when she sees a couple of the butterfly stitches she applied, just hours ago, have been ripped open.

 _This is going to leave yet another scar..._

After cleansing and reclosing the wound, Anne covers it with a fresh bandage. She takes in a deep breath and finds the strength to regroup.

"Okay, I want a full CT scan; head, chest and abdomen," Anne orders as she removes her latex gloves and tosses them in the trash. "Also, get me x-rays of his right arm and left ankle. I want a full blood workup. We need to isolate the culprit that's causing the infection."

"Right away, Doctor," Carol states, unlocking the wheels of the gurney as John attaches the IV to the metal bed frame.

"And one more thing..."

The seasoned nurse and young doctor both stop immediately to give their full attention to Anne.

"Nurse, I want you to stay with Ryan throughout all of the tests. Then bring him over to the ICU," Anne adds.

"Yes, Dr. Morrison."

Anne places her hand firmly on the nurse's forearm and looks directly into the woman's warm, brown eyes.

"Carol, this boy is very special," Anne states softly but intently, addressing the nurse more intimately. "Let me know the minute he's in the ICU."

Carol offers Anne a compassionate, reassuring smile. "He's in good hands, Dr. Morrison. Don't worry about a thing."

Anne watches Carol and John leave with Ryan, then immediately walks over to the sink to wash her hands. She reties her long, auburn hair back in a ponytail, feeling her hands begin to shake while trying to perform the simple task. Anne suddenly feels a rush of emotion come over her as tears well up in her eyes. She glances up at the mirror and takes in her tired, pale reflection and notes the bruise on her chin. She takes a small tube of concealer out of the pocket of her lab coat and dabs a bit over the bruise, then removes her glasses and lets out a plaintive sigh.

 _Hold yourself together, Charity Anne..._

"Dr. Morrison, may I have a few minutes of your time?"

Anne quickly wipes away any evidence of tears, then puts her glasses back on, hoping they will mask her blood-shot eyes.

"Detective Strauss... of course, please come in."

"How's Ryan doing?"

"Better than I expected," Anne replies, remembering the condition she left the boy in when AJ dragged her out of the basement. "We're running some tests, but physically he should recover."

 _Emotionally? We'll have to wait and see..._

"And you, Doctor? How are you holding up?"

Anne smiles at the detective, not quite sure how to answer the innocuous question. Her thoughts immediately return to Ryan and she thinks how the boy would most likely respond.

"I'll be fine."

Kathryn smiles and nods her head with understanding. She then clears her throat as she opens her notepad and takes out her pen.

"Dr. Morrison, I need to go over a few more details before I write up my report."

"I've already given a full statement to the Chino police," Anne says, wondering what else the detective could possibly need.

"I understand, but please bear with me... I need to be thorough," Kathryn says. "You stated that Trey did not want you to come with him to Ramon's, but you wouldn't give him any money until you saw Ryan."

"Yes, that is correct."

"You also stated that Trey had a gun..."

"He was desperate to help his brother," Anne interrupts. "Trey made a lot of very poor decisions last night. But, I honestly believe he did not intend for Ryan to fall into the hands of that drug dealer."

"Why didn't you just give Trey the money, leave his vehicle, then call the police?"

"I saw the look of sheer panic... utter terror in Trey's eyes when he spoke of what Ramon would do to his brother if the police got involved," Anne explains. "I guess I also didn't fully trust Trey. I wanted to see Ryan for myself... make sure the boy was alright. I thought that if Ramon got the rest of his money, he would let Ryan go."

Anne watches as Kathryn jots down all the information in her notepad and wonders if Trey will be doing any jail time.

"Will this be going to trial, Detective?" Anne asks. "Because, if I'm called upon to testify, I will not lie. As soon as I realized Ryan was in danger, I freely offered to help Trey."

"No, there won't be a trial. Trey has already pled guilty to the Corral theft, illegal possession of a firearm, drug possession and endangering a minor. In exchange for his plea, his lawyer wants the kidnapping charge dropped."

Kathryn looks at Anne and waits a few moments, trying to gauge the doctor's emotions.

"Trey Atwood pointed a gun at me to coerce me into giving him money," Anne states, recalling the fear she felt as soon as she saw the weapon. "But as I said before, I wanted to help Ryan. Was it naive of me to go to Ramon's with the belief he would let us all go free? Possibly, yes. Was it a poor decision? No, I don't believe so, and I would do it again in an instant. I truly believe Ryan would be downstairs in the morgue instead of upstairs in radiology if I wasn't there to help him."

"Thank you for your time, Dr. Morrison," Kathryn states earnestly as she closes her notepad and tucks it back in her jacket pocket. "I'll let you get back to work."

"Detective Strauss..."

Kathryn stops in the doorway and turns to look at Anne.

"Thank you. And thank Detective O'Brien for me. You all had to make very difficult decisions today, but they were the right decisions," Anne says, feeling relieved the nightmare in Ramon's basement is over. "Ryan has a second chance because of you."

"Ryan has a second chance because of you, Dr. Morrison," Kathryn states emphatically. "Take care of him and take care of yourself. I'll be in touch if we need anything more."

Anne watches the detective leave the examining room, then lets out a long, plaintive sigh.

 _I will definitely take care of Ryan. But first, I need to take care of the Cohens..._

* * *

"What could be taking so long?" Kirsten bemoans as she nervously paces back and forth in the waiting room. "It's been over an hour."

"Sweetheart, relax... Ryan's in good hands," Sandy says as he also paces back and forth, wondering the same thing.

"I feel like it's been forever since I've seen him."

"You just saw him yesterday, Mom, after we got home from school," Seth pipes in as he sits in a chair trying to read an old issue of People magazine, but with his leg bouncing uncontrollably with nervous energy, he gives up and just looks at the pictures.

"That's right, I did. He was in the kitchen making himself a turkey sandwich," Kirsten recalls as she rubs her arms up and down to ward off a chill in the air. "He asked me if he could use the last tomato that was sitting on the counter."

Kirsten feels a smile emerge on her tear-streaked face as she remembers a moment she had with the boy, alone... just the two of them.

"I put my arm around him and squeezed him. I told him, of course he could use the tomato. Then he smiled... that sweet, shy smile..."

 _God, I love his smile..._

"Mr. and Mrs. Cohen... Seth," Anne says as she walks into the ER waiting room to greet the concerned family.

"Dr. Morrison, how is he?" Sandy blurts out, praying for some positive news.

"Why don't you follow me. Ryan has been brought up to the ICU..."

"The ICU?" Sandy questions, hoping the boy didn't have to be intubated again.

"Ryan needs to be monitored very closely for the next 24 hours," Anne explains as they make their way down the hall to the elevators. "There is a wound on his thigh that is infected. He also has a fever, so we're administering broad-spectrum antibiotics intravenously."

Anne steps into the elevator and holds the door open as a number of people file out. She waits for the doors to close, then continues with her update.

"Ryan has sustained numerous injuries but none of them life-threatening. What we're guarding against is sepsis."

Kirsten gasps when she hears the word "sepsis", knowing if the condition goes untreated, it can be fatal.

Anne steps out of the elevator with Sandy, Kirsten and Seth following closely behind her. She stops just outside the door to the ICU and looks intently at the worried family.

"We're keeping Ryan sedated to give his body a chance to fight the infection. I'll know more once I get the results of the blood tests."

"Can we see him, Doctor?" Sandy asks.

"Of course, but I'm afraid I can't allow Seth into the ICU."

"What? Why... why not?" Seth protests. "I've visited Ryan before when he was here. Why can't I see him now?"

"Because you're sick," Anne states matter-of-factly. "Ryan's immune system has been severely compromised. He's weak and dehydrated. I can't allow anyone who's sick to go near him."

"But, I'm not sick!"

Anne looks at the teenager, furrowing her brow in a state of confusion.

"I was just pretending to be sick... and I was very convincing, I might add," Seth boasts.

Anne now looks even more confused as she wonders why a kid would pretend to be sick on a Friday night so he wouldn't be able to go out with his friend. She knows there's probably an explanation... some long story... but she has neither the time nor the patience to listen.

"All I know is what Ryan told me," Anne tells the disappointed teenager. "When I was with him, he told me you were sick. And, I know Ryan... he doesn't pretend or make things up."

"But..."

"I'm sorry, Seth. You'll have to wait until Ryan's condition has improved. The next 24 hours is crucial. Once the infection is under control, then you'll be able to see him."

"But..."

"The family waiting room is just down this hall. There's a TV, magazines and comfortable couches if you need to sleep..."

"I know where it is," Seth mumbles in defeat, pouting with his head down and shoulders slumped as he makes his way to the family waiting room.

Anne watches the teenager slowly walk away, looking like a dejected puppy. She tells herself not to feel guilty, but fails.

"I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Cohen, but I need to put my patient's needs first."

"Please, there's no need to be sorry," Sandy says, fully understanding the doctor's position. "In fact, this is good. Seth needs to think about the poor choices he made last night."

"This isn't the first time Seth has lied," Kirsten adds, realizing just how often and effortlessly her son can be, as he would put it, "not entirely one-hundred percent truthful".

"We've been hoping it's just a phase and he'll grow out of it," Sandy continues. "So, this is a good lesson for him."

"May we see him, Dr. Morrison?" Kirsten asks, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

"Yes, of course... follow me."

As Sandy and Kirsten follow Anne, they look around the ICU, taking in the familiar surroundings. They recognize many of the staff members as they both experience deja vu, surprised to find themselves back in a place they never thought they would ever return to again.

"Let me peek my head in first," Anne says, stopping outside a set of sliding glass doors with the privacy curtain pulled closed. "I know the nurses were bathing Ryan... getting him cleaned up."

Anne gently knocks on the glass and peeks her head inside the room. She sees Faith holding the boy in her arms as Hope dresses him in a clean hospital gown.

"The Cohens are here to see Ryan. May they come in?"

"Yes, of course... we're almost done," Faith replies as she carefully lowers the boy down and gently places his head on the pillow.

Sandy and Kirsten step inside the small room, their stomachs twisted up in knots as they brace themselves for what they might see.

"Oh, my god," Kirsten gasps under her breath. "Ryan..."

Sandy's heart drops when he sees the boy laying in the bed, the bruises now much more prominent against his pale skin. He feels tears well up in his eyes as a flood of emotions rush over him; sadness, anxiety...

 _How much more can this boy take..._

And anger. Feeling angry at Trey for not looking out for his younger brother; angry at himself for dropping the ball again, becoming too lax and trusting... even disregarding his wife's uneasiness and apprehension regarding Ryan's wayward brother.

Kirsten walks over to Ryan's bedside and sits down in a chair. "Can I... is it alright if I touch him?" Kirsten asks.

"Of course you may touch him," Anne replies, offering the woman a reassuring smile.

Kirsten gazes over the sedated boy, looking for somewhere she can place her hand; somewhere free from a bandage or a bruise. She decides upon his upper left arm, being careful not to disturb the IV.

"His ankle... is it broken?" Sandy asks as he watches Hope place pillows under the boy's leg; his ankle in a compression wrap with an ice pack draped over it.

"Ryan has a sprained ankle. I'm not quite sure how he sustained it, though," Anne replies, telling herself she doesn't know but venturing a guess how it happened. "He didn't have a sprained ankle when I was with him."

Anne turns away briefly and looks at the computer monitor, pretending to check on something important but really just biding time to collect herself.

 _A teenage boy should sprain his ankle while playing soccer, not stumbling over debris or a decomposing corpse in a dark cellar..._

"You mentioned the possibility of Ryan becoming septic," Sandy says. "That's not a good thing..."

"Ryan is already showing signs of improvement," Anne replies. "His fever is coming down and his kidney function, one of the first things we look at, is excellent."

"Can he hear us?" Kirsten asks, almost in a whisper so not to wake the sleeping boy.

"Most likely, not," Anne replies. "We'll wake him up slowly once the infection is under control."

"He'll be in pain... so much pain," Kirsten says in a hushed voice, her eyes glistening with newly formed tears. "I don't want him to be in any pain..."

"We will manage his pain, Mrs. Cohen," Anne assures.

Kirsten runs her fingers gently over Ryan's arm, unable to take her eyes off the boy. She fears if she does turn her head away, even for a split second, the boy might suddenly vanish.

Anne observes Kirsten as the woman continues to gently stroke the boy's arm. Anyone not acquainted with the family would most likely assume she was Ryan's mother.

"Dr. Morrison, I want to thank you for everything you're doing... everything you've done," Sandy says earnestly as he pulls a chair up and sits next to Kirsten. He places his right hand on his wife's tense shoulder and carefully takes the boy's left hand into his. "I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to go home and rest. You've been through so much today..."

"There's no other place I would rather be than here," Anne says. "If I was home, I would go literally insane."

Sandy offers Anne a warm smile of appreciation, then turns his attention back to Ryan and gently squeezes the boy's hand.

 _Hang in there, kid... I'm right here. You're safe now..._

"I do need to return to the ER, though," Anne says as she looks out the window and sees the sun setting on the horizon. She looks at Sandy and Kirsten, sitting as close to Ryan's bedside as the chairs will allow.

"Ryan is in excellent hands," Anne states, gesturing to Faith and Hope before leaving the room. "I'll be back to check on Ryan a little later."

"I thank God she's taking care of Ryan," Kirsten whispers quietly to her husband.

"You and me both..."

"Mr. and Mrs. Cohen..."

"Please, it's Sandy and Kirsten," Sandy interrupts, feeling the nurses are more like friends than just mere acquaintances.

"And call us Hope and Faith," Hope says as she adjusts the pillows under Ryan's leg, then covers him with the blanket.

"Is there anything I can get you?" Faith asks as she places the used towels on the cart and pushes it out into the hall. "Some coffee or juice? Maybe something from the cafeteria. Have either of you eaten anything?"

"Some coffee sounds heavenly," Sandy replies. "How about you, honey? When was the last time you had something to eat?"

Kirsten continues to stare at Ryan as she caresses his arm and replies softly, "I don't know. I don't remember..."

"I'll have them send up some sandwiches and coffee," Faith says with a caring smile.

"Thank you, nur... Faith," Sandy says.

"And, I'll check on your son, Seth... see if he needs anything," Hope offers as both nurses take their leave.

Sandy and Kirsten both sit in silence, taking in the sight of the bruised and battered boy sleeping peacefully, at least for the time being.

"Is there anyone else, Sandy?" Kirsten asks in a hushed voice.

"Anyone else?"

"Is there anyone else in Ryan's past that we need to be concerned about?" Kirsten clarifies. "You've seen and read his files from child services. Is there another monster lurking out there? Someone who wants to take him from us... someone who wants to hurt him again?"

Sandy ponders the question for a moment as a feeling of uneasiness and despair creeps up through his body. He knows Dawn did not have the best judgement when it came to dating and men. He recalls seeing numerous photos of the boy. Hospital photos of bruises and broken bones; most injuries occurring withing the last five years but some dating back to when he was just a small child.

 _Why didn't anyone help him? Why wasn't anything done?_

He knows why. Too many abused and battered children and not enough social workers. Too many unwanted children and not enough foster homes to place them in.

"I don't know the answer to that, honey," is all that Sandy can say. It's not any consolation, but he can't lie.

"I just want him to be okay, Sandy," Kirsten says quietly under her breath as tears break free and stream down her face. "He's been through so much. I don't want him to suffer anymore..."

Sandy places his arm around his wife's shoulders and pulls her in close to himself, offering her comfort.

"I know, sweetheart. Ryan's going to be okay."

 _He has to be okay..._

"Dr. Morrison, Faith and Hope... they're all here for Ryan," Sandy tells his despairing wife. "And he has us... you, me and Seth..."

"I love him, Sandy. I love him so much..."

"I know you do, sweetheart," Sandy says as he kisses the top of Kirsten's head then glances down at the sleeping boy.

"I love him, too."


	19. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

 **My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)**

 **One of the things I've tried to do is to have Seth grow up "emotionally" a little bit in each of my stories; have him make mistakes so he can learn from them, and realize that things aren't always about him.**

 **Kirsten is also a character I've tried to re-imagine and evolve. I know there are still some readers who hold Kirsten's past misconceptions regarding Ryan against her, but in my story she's proven herself and has changed for the better, all the while having to deal with her father's horrific betrayal. Also, Ryan understands this and in my story, he forgave her a long time ago.**

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Eighteen

Sandy stirs slightly in the worn, light brown recliner, not wanting to listen to the little voice in his head telling him it's time to wake up. He hears an array of faint sounds in the distance; quiet footsteps of nurses tending their patients, window blinds being cracked open to let in the morning sun, and the drone of a blood pressure machine, taking another reading.

"I'm sorry if I woke you, Sandy," Faith says as she finishes opening the blinds to welcome the natural light into the room.

"What time is it?" Sandy mumbles as he tries to stifle a yawn while stretching to get the kinks out of his neck.

"It's seven... go back to sleep," Faith whispers. "I just need to check on Ryan..."

 _Ryan!_ Sandy thinks to himself, immediately coming to attention when he hears the boy's name.

"How's he doing, Faith?" Sandy asks as he sits up straight and tries to get his bearings. "Are the antibiotics working?"

"Yes, they are," Faith replies with a heartwarming smile. "His temperature is still slightly elevated... 99.6F, but much improved from yesterday."

Sandy runs his hand over his groggy face and lets out a sigh of relief. He suddenly thinks about Kirsten and Seth, knowing they'll want an update on Ryan's health.

"I looked in on your wife and son," Faith says, practically reading the man's mind. "They were just waking and thinking about going down to the cafeteria for some coffee and danish."

Sandy sighs in relief, happy Kirsten and Seth are taking care of themselves. He remembers the dilemma he and Kirsten faced just last night; the ICU had only one recliner left. Kirsten agreed that Sandy should be the one to stay in the room with Ryan, just in case anything happened. If the boy woke up and needed someone, or if... God forbid... his health took a turn for the worse, she wanted Sandy there in case a difficult decision had to be made regarding his medical treatment.

"Here, let me help," Sandy offers, jumping to his feet to assist the nurse. Sandy gently holds Ryan's shoulder off the bed as Faith wedges a small pillow behind the boy's back, allowing him to lay slightly on his side.

"Since Ryan is sedated, we need to change his sleeping position periodically," Faith says, helping Sandy ease the boy back down onto the bed.

Sandy carefully adjusts the nasal cannula around Ryan's ears as he gazes down at the sleeping boy. He then lets out a long, wistful sigh and runs his hand over the boy's warm forehead.

 _Will you still let me touch you when you wake up?_ Sandy asks himself as he runs his fingers gently through Ryan's slightly damp hair.

A small smile of contentment emerges across Sandy's face as tears well up in his eyes when he remembers the first time Ryan didn't flinch at his touch; the first time the boy didn't look at him with fear in his eyes or glance towards him with deep distrust when Sandy placed his hand upon his shoulder.

 _You were sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over your notebook doing your algebra homework,_ Sandy thinks to himself.

"Looks like you're recalling a fond memory," Faith says, noting the father's warm smile as she checks to make sure the swelling in Ryan's ankle has gone down.

"That I am," Sandy replies earnestly. "Ryan was doing his homework one evening... I placed my hand on his shoulder and leaned over to look down at what he was doing."

"Did you understand any of it?"

"Not a thing... it was all Greek to me," Sandy replies with a slight chuckle. "The only math I care about these days is how many feet high the waves are so I can go surfing. My wife balances the checkbook."

Faith laughs softly, welcoming the friendly banter on the Sunday morning, knowing that the day ahead may be long and emotional.

"When I asked Ryan if he needed my help, he turned his head towards me and gave me the 'are you serious?' look. Then he smiled... you know, that sweet, shy smile..."

 _God, I love his smile..._

"He has a beautiful smile," Faith says as she lowers Ryan's leg and covers him back up with the blanket, hoping she'll be able to see the boy's smile again.

"Excuse me, I hate to interrupt," Hope says in a hushed voice as she peeks her head inside the room. "Sandy, there's someone here to see you."

"Really? Here to see me?" Sandy asks, slightly confused. Who in the world would want to see him so early on a Sunday morning and here, in the hospital.

"It's that lawyer... Trey's Public Defender... Mr. Kramer. I forgot his first name..."

"Dirk," Sandy utters, mostly under his breath.

 _The jerk..._

"Sandy, this would be a good time if you needed to leave for awhile," Faith says, noting the man is torn between talking to the lawyer and leaving the boy. "Dr. Morrison will be here shortly and she'll most likely want to examine Ryan."

"He's not going to wake up soon?" Sandy asks, making sure it will be okay to leave for a few minutes as he realizes he could definitely use a trip to the restroom.

"It's going to be at least an hour, maybe longer," Faith replies. "I'll make sure he won't be left alone."

Sandy hesitates for a moment, then places the palm of his hand on Ryan's head. "You promise you won't leave him," Sandy says quietly as he runs his fingers through the boy's hair.

"I promise," Faith states earnestly. "Either me or Hope will stay with Ryan until Dr. Morrison arrives."

"Sandy, we have pagers at the nurse's station," Hope adds, also noting the father's reluctance to leave. "You can take one and we'll page you if anything changes..."

Sandy sighs and runs his hand over Ryan's forehead. "Okay, I definitely want a pager," Sandy says as he threads his fingers through the boy's damp hair one more time before he takes his leave.

 _And I need to find out what in the world Dirk Kramer wants..._

* * *

"Dr. Morrison hates me."

"She doesn't hate you. Eat your muffin."

"Do you think she'll let me see Ryan today?" Seth asks as he picks the blueberries out of his once blueberry muffin to eat it plain. "Because, I'll put a mask on and gloves... I'll wear a hazmat suit if I have to."

"I don't know," Kirsten replies, trying to keep her patience with her son. "It all depends on how he's doing."

"Why hasn't Dad told us anything? He's been with Ryan all night. You would think he would know something by now..."

"Seth, enough!" Kirsten scolds as her frazzled nerves gets the best of her. "Your father will tell us if there's any change in Ryan's condition."

"It's just that..."

Kirsten sets her cup of coffee down and looks directly at Seth. She suddenly sees not only confusion on her son's young face, but also despair.

"I don't understand, Mom. I don't understand why people keep hurting him... why Grandpa... why anyone would want to hurt him..."

Kirsten blinks back the tears welling up in her eyes as she thinks about everything that has happened to Ryan... that is, everything she knows about. She shudders to think about what he's endured and he's not even seventeen yet.

"Ryan's a good person, Mom. He's the best person I know," Seth states with utter conviction. "Do you remember that time when Ryan and I got all those bruises?"

"Yes, he was staying with us while your father was trying to locate Dawn," Kirsten recalls with a heavy heart, remembering how she wrongly blamed Ryan for getting her son injured and into trouble.

"Well, he saved me, Mom... he had my back. Luke was beating the crap out of me on the beach and Ryan didn't hesitate to help me."

Seth glances down at the mangled muffin on his plate and lets out a long sigh as he thinks about his friend and how powerless he is to help him.

"I wish I never lied to him about being sick... none of this would have happened."

"You were wrong to lie, Seth," Kirsten says, taking advantage of, what her husband would call, a "teachable" moment. "But, we all make mistakes. What's important is that we learn from them and not make the same mistakes twice."

 _Like jumping to conclusions about a boy before getting to know him first..._

"I wish I was strong like Ryan," Seth says quietly. "I wish I could have helped him... tried to save him..."

 _I should have had his back..._

Kirsten places her hand over her son's hand and squeezes it gently.

"It appears we've both made our share of mistakes," Kirsten says with a soulful smile. "But, we know better now and we're going to get through this; you, me, your dad and Ryan. We're going to get through this together... as a family."

* * *

"Sandy, there you are! I've been looking for you."

"Dirk!" Sandy says, forcing a smile as he shakes the man's hand, surprised it's actually dry and not slippery and dripping with slime.

"I heard what happened with Ryan," Dirk continues, trying his best to "make nice". "Tell me, how is the boy doing?"

"Ryan? He's doing as well as can be expected," Sandy says with a hint of skepticism in his voice, not sure why the lawyer is so interested in a boy he referred to just twenty-four hours ago as a "two-bit street punk".

"I'm happy to hear that. What a nightmare that must've been..."

"We can skip the small talk, Dirk. What is it you want?"

"Straight to the point. I've always admired that about you."

Sandy lets out a small huff and folds his arms in front of him, refusing to acknowledge the empty compliment.

"Right, well... it's about Trey."

"What about him?" Sandy inquires, not quite sure he really wants to know.

"He wants to see Ryan."

"What! Have you lost your mind?"

"Hey, don't shoot me! I'm just the messenger here," Dirk says, holding his hands up in front of his chest as if he were being held up by an armed robber.

"No!"

"Sandy, come on... he's the kid's brother," Dirk implores.

"I said no!"

"Listen, Trey has taken a plea deal... he's going to prison for at least ten years."

"Good for him."

"He's going to be transferred tomorrow... first thing Monday morning, to the penitentiary infirmary."

Sandy lets out a long sigh of frustration as he runs his hand over his tired face.

"At least talk to him, Sandy. Can you do that much?"

Sandy lets out another sigh, knowing what he needs to do. "What room is he in..."

"He was moved out of the ICU to a private room yesterday," Dirk replies. "Trey suffered a mild concussion and a broken collar bone..."

"Room number, Dirk," Sandy interrupts, finding himself with little patience and in desperate need of a cup of coffee.

"Room three."

Sandy watches as Dirk Kramer walks away and shakes his head in disbelief.

 _Whatever you have to say to me, Trey... it had better be good,_ Sandy thinks to himself as he makes his way to the elevators. _Otherwise, I'm going to kill you..._

* * *

"All right, it's time to wake up now, young man."

Anne gently runs the palm of her hand over Ryan's forehead, threading her fingers through his dark, blond hair. "Nurse, how long has it been?"

"A little over an hour," Hope replies.

"His temperature?"

"It's now 99.4F... still going down," Faith answers, keeping a close eye on the monitor.

"He should be waking up," Anne says with concern. "Come on, sweetheart... let me see those beautiful, dark blue eyes..."

Ryan hears a faint voice in the distance. He struggles to listen, but the voice seems like it's a million miles away.

 _Wake up... wake up... I know that voice... familiar... kind. But, I don't want to wake up... Not yet... It's safer in here. It's much safer in here..._

"He should be showing signs of waking by now," Hope says, worried something may be wrong.

"We have to be patient," Anne replies as she gazes down at the sedated boy. "Remember who we're dealing with. He'll wake up when he's good and ready."

 _Where am I? Is it safe to come out? Is he gone? I don't know where I am... Wake up..._

Anne continues to gently brush her fingers over Ryan's forehead, hoping the boy will react to her touch.

 _Who's there? Who's touching me? Stop it! I don't want to be touched. But wait, it doesn't hurt... it feels good. Who could be touching me? Maybe if I just open my eyes a little..._

"That's right, open your eyes," Anne gently coaxes.

 _I feel something... something underneath me... it's soft and warm... not cold and hard. Where am I? Maybe I should wake up. Maybe I should try... Wake up..._

"Dr. Morrison, I just saw the fingers on his left hand move slightly," Faith says, her voice filled with hope.

Anne immediately takes Ryan's left hand into hers and gently strokes the inside of his palm.

 _I should open my eyes but... why is it so bright? Hurts... everything hurts... God, make it go away..._

"Nurse, close the blinds slightly and dim the ceiling light," Anne orders as she watches the boy struggle to open his eyes. "The light may be hurting his eyes."

Faith closes the blinds halfway, casting the sunlight downward as Hope turns the dimmer switch to its lowest setting.

"Much better," Anne says, noting the room is now warmly lit and much more inviting.

Ryan slowly opens his eyes, blinking as they gradually become accustomed to the light. With his vision blurred and his mind foggy, Ryan looks around the room in an effort to clear his confusion. He then tries to swallow but his throat is sore and bone dry. Ryan presses his lips together, struggling to form a simple word.

"W...wa..."

"Let's raise the head of the bed a little," Anne says as she grabs a styrofoam cup filled with water off the side tray.

Anne holds the cup and places the straw carefully against Ryan's parched lips. Hope immediately places her arm behind the boy's back, helping him sit up straighter to drink in the welcome fluid.

"Slow down, sweetheart," Anne says softly, not wanting to say the boy's name until she's had a chance to check the state of his memory. "Take small sips. You don't want to drink too much all at once."

"Thir... thirs...ty..."

"I know you are... just drink slowly," Anne says as she coaxes the straw from the boy's mouth. "You can have more in a few minutes, but right now, you need to relax."

Hope eases Ryan back down on the bed as Faith places a pillow under his head, making small adjustments to ensure the boy's comfort.

"Hey, there," Anne says with a warm smile, running her hand over Ryan's forehead as she brushes his bangs off to the side. "Can you tell me your name?"

Anne watches with concern as the boy stares down at the white, cotton blanket... seemingly locked in his own mind.

"It's alright... you're safe," Anne whispers soothingly. "I just need you to tell me your name."

Anne, Faith and Hope wait patiently, hoping the boy will answer the simple question. Each second that ticks by feels like minutes as an uneasy silence fills the room.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"R... Ryan..."

Anne breathes a sigh of relief when she hears the boy speak.

"Do you know who I am?" Anne asks gently.

Ryan glances up at Anne, then quickly looks away.

"D... doctor," Ryan replies, his voice raspy and weak.

"Can you tell me where you are, Ryan?"

Ryan glances warily around the room, taking in the sterile surroundings. He looks down at the needle in his forearm and traces the tubing to the IV next to the bed. He notices a large clip on his left index finger, then glances up at the computer monitor.

"Hos... hospital..."

"That's right, you're in the hospital," Anne reiterates, still concerned with the boy's detachment.

"My m... m... mom..."

"What about your mom?" Anne asks, slightly confused.

"I c... can't b... be here..."

"Why can't you be here?" Anne asks, even more confused but her curiosity piqued.

Ryan again glances warily around the room. He notes the bruises on his arm and the bandages covering his right hand. He looks down at his ankle; elevated by pillows and encased in a compression wrap.

"Insur... insurance... I d... don't have insurance..."

Anne immediately becomes more confused as she tries to understand the boy's train of thought. She knows his mother is living in Atlanta with her brother, Lenny. He's told her that much... and she's been sober. Plus, the Cohen's are his legal guardians now. She knows all of his health care is covered under their insurance.

"I should have n... never t... tried to come here," Ryan continues, speaking to anyone who may be listen. "I've m... made a m... mess of everything..."

"How so, Ryan?" Anne inquires, deciding it would be best to play along in the hope of gaining some insight into the boy's mind.

Ryan pulls the covers up to his chest and tries to sink down into the bed.

"I should have w... waited. I should have waited until m... morning."

"Morning... this morning?" Anne inquires, trying to mask the confusion in her voice.

"Cli... clinic. I should have waited and gone to the clinic."

Anne looks down at the boy and immediately becomes concerned by his demeanor; his expression full of anguish and guilt as he makes the effort to turn away from her. She thinks back to when she first had Ryan as a patient and suddenly realizes what is happening.

 _He doesn't remember,_ Anne thinks to herself, realizing the boy must be suffering from some short-term memory loss due to the trauma he's endured along with being sedated. _He thinks he's here in the hospital when I first saw him... when he was beaten by AJ and had pneumonia. Everything that has happened over the last six months with his father; the warehouse, the rats and now the basement... the corpse... He doesn't remember._

"I c... can't d... do this to my m... mom..."

"It's alright, Ryan," Anne says soothingly as she carefully sits down on the bed and gently places her hands on the boy's arms. "You don't need to worry about anything. Okay? You promise me, you won't worry about a thing. At this hospital, we treat everyone. No one is ever turned away."

Anne gently runs her hands over Ryan's shoulders, then instinctively wraps her arms around the distraught boy.

Ryan leans into the doctor's comforting embrace as he slowly gives into fatigue.

"I'm so t... tired..."

"It's the pain meds," Anne explains. "They're making you drowsy."

"C... can't s... stay awake..."

"Go back to sleep now," Anne whispers soothingly, placing a hand on top of Ryan's head. "You need to sleep."

Anne waits a few moments, making sure the boy is asleep before releasing her hold. She carefully sets his head down on the pillow and adjusts the nasal cannula around his ears; then stands up, knowing what needs to be done next.

"I need to talk with the Cohens as soon as possible," Anne tells the nurses. "Have them meet me in my office in the next hour."

"Right away, Dr. Morrison," both Faith and Hope acknowledge in unison.

"And I need to contact Dr. Gabriel Evans. Ryan's memory loss is most likely temporary due to trauma and the sedation, but it's crucial we handle it properly," Anne says as she places her hands on both of the nurses' forearms and pulls them into a small huddle.

"Under no circumstances is anyone to tell the boy what has happened or how he ended up here," Anne says in a hushed voice. "It's imperative that Ryan recalls the memories himself. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Doctor," the nurses reply.

As Anne begins to take her leave, she stops in the threshold and turns around. "I want someone in this room at all times," Anne states firmly. "When Ryan wakes up again, he cannot be alone."

"Don't worry, Dr. Morrison," Hope assures. "Either Faith or myself will stay with the boy. He won't be left alone."

Anne smiles with appreciation, then steps out into the hall and leans her back against the wall.

 _I need to get in touch with Dr. Evans,_ Anne tells herself, taking in a deep breath to calm her nerves. _He'll know what to do. I've helped the boy physically, but I'm in way over my head. I can't lose him mentally...  
_

"Or emotionally," Anne hears herself stating out loud. "I can't lose him... not like this. There are too many people who care about him... like Faith and Hope."

 _There are too many people who love him,_ Anne thinks to herself as she starts walking to the elevators, making her way back to her office. _Like Sandy, Kirsten, Seth...  
_

 _And me._


	20. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **There are flashbacks in this chapter with the text "centered" (at least I hope it will be centered after I post) that is material taken from my prior two stories. This is to help readers who haven't read "To Be Seventeen" or "A Deal With the Devil" and also refresh the memories of those who have.**

 **As you read this chapter, please keep in mind my story is AU. I'm trying to set up scenarios for upcoming chapters, so everything I write, I write for a reason. :-)**

 **Also, I write Trey as someone who loves his brother but he's also a colossal screw-up, much like Dawn. I've always been intrigued with the brothers' relationship and their past, so this is my take. For Trey, this is a chapter of regrets. I felt the show didn't do much with the Atwood's and their family background, but instead centered most of their attention on Marissa and a constant revolving door of guest stars.**

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Nineteen

Sandy walks down the hallway to room number three. Trey's room. He sees a young policeman, most likely a rookie, stationed outside the room.

 _This must be it,_ Sandy thinks to himself.

"Sorry, but you can't go in there."

"Trey's expecting me," Sandy tells the officer.

"Are you family?"

"Sort of... I'm his brother's legal guardian," Sandy explains.

"I'll have to pat you down," the young officer states, taking his guard position very seriously. "Can't have you bringing in any knives..."

"Believe me, I wouldn't dream of it," Sandy says with a hint of sarcasm as he places his hands up over his head, allowing the officer to frisk him.

"All right, sir... you can go in."

Sandy slowly opens the door and steps inside the small hospital room. He sees Trey laying in bed in a slightly upright sitting position with his eyes closed; his right wrist handcuffed to the bed rail.

"So, I take it my stellar of a P.D. actually did what he was told to do for a change," Trey states dryly with his eyes still closed, assuming Sandy Cohen is paying him a visit. No one else has...

"What do you want, Trey?" Sandy asks, more as a statement than a question.

"I wanna see my brother."

"No," Sandy replies curtly.

"He's my brother... you can't keep me from seein' him," Trey says, opening his eyes to look directly at Sandy.

"I'm Ryan's legal guardian," Sandy explains calmly. "I will do whatever I need to do to ensure that boy's safety."

"I ain't gonna hurt him..."

"No, of course you won't hurt him," Sandy says, walking deeper into the room but remaining comfortably out of arms reach. "You would just bring your sixteen-year-old brother to a known drug dealer's... correction; a known sadistic, drug dealer's house..."

"I specifically told Ryan to stay in the car!" Trey spits out, clearly agitated with being handcuffed to the bed on top of everything else that has happened. "He doesn't listen! Fuck! The kid doesn't listen!"

"You could have come to me, Trey. I could have helped. I would have given you the money..."

"Yeah, right... come to you," Trey interrupts, his voice dripping with bitter derision. "You would've never let me see my brother again."

"Possibly," Sandy says in agreement. "But then, you wouldn't be facing ten years in prison and Ryan wouldn't be struggling for his life."

"Shit... what did Ramon do to him?" Trey asks, fighting back bitter tears.

"Not just Ramon," Sandy replies. "But also AJ."

"AJ? How the hell did he..."

"I'm sure Dirk Kramer can bring you up to speed with what has happened in the last twenty-four hours," Sandy says, his voice devoid of emotion. "But, at least Ramon and AJ are dead. They won't be hurting Ryan ever again."

"Mr. Cohen, please..."

Sandy looks at the young man laying in bed; the dark purple bruising on his face a stark contrast against the white cast surrounding his neck and clavicle. He remembers, not that long ago, when he and Kirsten first visited Trey in prison. They wanted to tell him that Ryan was in the hospital, suffering from pneumonia...

 _"So, what do I owe this cozy, little visit. Please, don't tell me my baby brother_  
 _has screwed up and you're lookin' to ditch him. I'd take the kid but, as you can see,_  
 _I'm kinda stuck in here for awhile."_

 _"Actually, Trey, we're here to let you know that Ryan is in the hospital."_

 _"Say what? Ryan's in the hospital? What the hell happened? Is he gonna be alright?_  
 _So help me, if you've laid one hand on my baby brother I'll kick your sorry ass..._  
 _I mean it... Ryan's been through enough shit!"_

"I know you care about Ryan, but..."

"Damn right, I do," Trey spits out, not liking the fact he's being kept from seeing his brother. "I know I screwed up... I ain't that stupid. But I never meant any harm to come to Ryan. I love him," Trey adds, the tone of his voice softening. "Please, I just wanna see my brother before I'm sent away..."

Sandy stands in the middle of the room and folds his arms across his chest, struggling to make the difficult decision.

"I know my brother, Mr. Cohen. If he finds out I wanted to see him and you kept me from seein' him, he'll be upset," Trey states, feeling he's getting through to the man.

Sandy lets out a long sigh and runs his hand through his thick, black hair.

"Ryan doesn't like being kept in the dark... the kid prefers to make his own decisions..."

"All right, I'll talk to Ryan. But, I won't promise you anything," Sandy says as he starts making his way to the door. "If Ryan decides he doesn't want to see you, then that's it. We're done. But, if he does want to see you, it will be on my terms. Do you understand? I will be in the room at all times. I will not leave you alone with that kid for one single, solitary second."

"I understand," Trey states, having to be content with getting this far with his brother's over-protective guardian.

 _At least someone's lookin' out for the kid..._

Trey remembers vividly when Ryan was in the ICU, having survived his ordeal of being locked in a filthy warehouse... surrounded by hungry rats and a decomposing corpse.

 _Frank just left you there... to die..._

Ryan was attached to a ventilator and fighting for his life. Detective Strauss had brought Trey to the hospital when the prison granted him a temporary release due to a family emergency. He remembers seeing his brother lying in the bed; his skin pale white and his body motionless.

 _"You don't gotta worry about him comin' after you no more. I don't gotta hide you_  
 _in the closet and warn you to keep quiet... I don't gotta worry about him findin' you..."_

"That son of a bitch always did find you," Trey whispers under his breath, wincing at the thought of what Frank did to his brother and fighting the sickening knot in his stomach that he wasn't able to do anything about it.

 _You don't gotta be scared no more..._

"Frank."

Sandy stops in the threshold of the doorway and grits his teeth. He knows he should just keep walking out of the room, but his curiosity gets the better of him.

"All right, I'll bite," Sandy says, turning around to look at Trey. "What about Frank?"

Trey repositions himself in the bed, clears his throat and looks directly at Sandy.

"Frank Atwood isn't Ryan's father."

* * *

Ryan lays face up on the cold, hard floor, unable to move. His arms and legs feel as heavy as cement blocks. He stares up at the ceiling, mesmerized by the flickering light. Suddenly, he feels something cold wrap around his ankle. Glancing down at his feet, he sees a large metal chain inching its way up along his shin. Almost snakelike, the chain continues to slither its way methodically up his body; circling around his knee, then his thigh before crossing over his hip and groin. Perspiration beads onto his forehead as he begins to hyperventilate; the chain slowly, almost diabolically, winding itself around his waist... squeezing him just enough to make him squirm in discomfort. He feels the chain ease its grip slightly as it slowly makes its way up over his chest. He gasps and struggles to breathe as the icy cold metal wraps itself around his neck... tightening its relentless grip... constricting and digging the rough, rusted metal into his bruised skin. He struggles to move but he's chained down to the floor. He tries to cry out but is unable to make a sound. He tries again... tries to scream... but cannot make a sound...

"Ryan? Ryan, honey wake up," Faith says softly as she places her hand upon the boy's damp forehead. "You need to wake up..."

Ryan hears a soft voice in the distance as he struggles to move his limbs. Paralyzed from the neck down, he gasps for air as the chain continues to wrap itself around his neck, squeezing tighter and tighter...

"Ryan, please honey... open your eyes..."

Ryan suddenly sits up in bed and places his hands over the front of his neck, gasping for breath. He gags and coughs as tears stream down his pale cheeks; his eyes wide with harrowing fear.

"It's alright, Ryan," Faith whispers as she places her arm around the boy's quivering shoulders. "You were having a dream. It was just a dream..."

Ryan continues to shake incessantly as his coughing slowly begins to subside. Without saying a word, he gives into his need for safety and comfort, and allows the nurse to hold him.

"You're safe, Ryan. No one's going to hurt you," Faith says reassuringly. "It was just a bad dream..."

* * *

Sandy stands in the doorway, completely dumbfounded and rendered speechless.

"I was gonna tell Ryan the other night when we went to the Corral but I just couldn't bring myself to tell him. It was one of the reasons I wanted some alone time with..."

"Wait a minute... back up, Trey," Sandy interrupts, finding his voice again. "Are you saying that Frank isn't Ryan's biological father?"

"Didn't you hear what I just said?" Trey blurts out, the annoyance dripping from his words.

"I did hear you... I just... I..." Sandy stutters as he steps back into the room. "Who told you?"

"Dawn," Trey replies. "And before you start in on how Dawn's word is about as strong as an overcooked, wet noodle, I believed her. She was actually sober when she told me."

"All right, why don't you start from the beginning," Sandy says, needing to get the full picture.

"I was eleven, so Ry must've been around seven. Frank was being sent to prison for armed robbery, and lemme tell ya, I was more than happy to be rid of that no-good, son-of-a-bitch."

Trey grabs a large plastic water bottle off the side table and takes a drink of the refreshing liquid before continuing.

"I was sittin' at the kitchen table eatin' breakfast. Ry was gettin' ready for school so Dawn hadn't started in on her morning vodka yet... shit, I don't know what possessed me to even bring it up to her..."

"Go on, I'm listening..."

"I just mentioned to Dawn how different Ry was compared to Frank, you know... they ain't nothin' alike. Hell, they don't even look alike!" Trey continues, recalling the day his mother confessed her deep, dark secret to him. "I jokingly said that I wouldn't be surprised if Frank wasn't really Ry's father... I was joking! I was fuckin' joking!"

Trey takes another sip of water as he shakes his head, remembering the conversation with his mother. "I literally blew the Cheerios outta my nose when she told me."

"Did she tell you who the father is?" Sandy asks.

"Some guy... a truck driver, I think," Trey says nonchalantly as if it's no big thing. "Dawn was a waitress at a truck stop off of Interstate 15 **.** Guess she slept with him a few times..."

"Did she give you a name?"

"Jim somethin'... Warren... Warner... somethin' War..."

"Why did your mother keep this a secret?" Sandy asks. "Why didn't she just..."

"Seriously? Are you kiddin' me?" Trey interrupts, completely dumbfounded by the man's question. "My mother had a fuckin' affair! She got pregnant! She had to convince Frank the baby was his."

"I'm just not following..."

"If Frank found out that Dawn cheated on him, he would've flat out killed her," Trey explains. "If he realized Ryan wasn't really his, he would've shoved that baby into a plastic bag and tossed him into a fuckin' dumpster out in the alley behind El Pollo Loco!"

Trey lets out a long sigh and runs his hand over his bewildered face. He moves himself around in the bed, trying to get himself comfortable but fails miserably.

"My parents relationship was beyond toxic. If Frank wasn't beatin' my mother, he was forcin' himself on her. I'd hear her cryin'... probably why she started drinkin' so much," Trey says, sharing what knowledge he has about his family life with Sandy. "But, my mom had told me once that Frank wasn't always an asshole. He seemed like a decent guy when they were datin'. It was after they got married that Frank became so abusive. She was terrified of him..."

"Sociopaths are like that," Sandy says, having met a few in his line of work. "They literally have two faces; one minute they'll be charming and kind, then something happens and 'boom', they turn into a monster."

"She was finally gonna divorce him. Frank was goin' to prison and wouldn't be able to contest it," Trey continues. "I guess she figured it was safe to let the 'cat outta the bag', so to speak."

"So why say something now, Trey? What do you possible have to gain from telling Ryan."

"Nothing. I don't got nothin' to gain," Trey replies. "But, now that Frank's dead, he can't hurt Ry no more. The kid should know the truth. Hell, I know Dawn will never tell him."

Trey looks intently at Sandy, wondering how the man will handle this new predicament.

"Ryan has been the only bright spot in my otherwise miserable excuse for a life, Mr. Cohen," Trey says quietly. "I haven't been the greatest brother... I just wanna do what's right."

Sandy feels the pager vibrate in his jacket pocket. He knows he needs to talk with Dr. Morrison and get back to Ryan.

"All right, Trey... you are not to breathe a word about this to anyone. Do you understand me?" Sandy says, reinforcing the gravity of the situation. "I need to talk to Ryan's psychologist. He'll know how best to handle this..."

"Fine, I won't say a word," Trey reassures. "I know you'll do what you feel is right."

Sandy begins to walk out of the room, but immediately stops when he hears Trey's quivering voice.

"I'm goin' to prison for a long time, Mr. Cohen. And, there's a good chance I may die in there," Trey explains with a heavy heart as tears well up in his eyes. "I'm sure some of Ramon's lackeys are doin' time... wouldn't be surprised if I got a shiv in the back..."

"Trey, I can see to it that you're placed..."

"No... I don't want no favors," Trey says, sinking back down in the bed as fatigue begins to take over. "Just promise me you'll take care of my brother. Protect him..."

"I will, Trey. You have my word."

 _You've always been there for him,_ Trey thinks to himself as he begins to drift off to sleep. _Somethin' I wasn't able to do..._

"Take care of my brother," Trey mumbles softly to himself.

 _Please, Sandy... keep my brother safe..._

* * *

"Faith, is everything alright?" Hope asks with concern as she runs into the room. "I was sitting at the nurse's station and saw on the monitor that Ryan's heart rate jumped and his pulse suddenly became rapid..."

"Everything's fine, Hope," Faith replies as she continues to hold the boy in her arms. "Can you grab a fresh gown out of the bottom drawer?"

"Of course," Hope acknowledges as she retrieves a clean hospital gown out of the dresser drawer. "What happened, Faith?"

"He just had a bad dream," Faith replies as she peels the sweat-soaked hospital gown from the boy's trembling body, taking care to keep him covered with the blanket. "Hope, help me dress him..."

Faith suddenly feels Ryan tense up; every muscle in his body becoming solid and rigid.

"Ryan? What is it?" Faith asks as she looks at the boy, his eyes wide with terror.

Ryan stares down at the bottom of the bed. He sees it perched on his lower leg... a large, gray rat. He looks into its beady red eyes as they stare back at him. He feels its razor sharp claws dig into his shin bone, releasing a crimson flow of blood oozing into the white blanket.

"Ryan, talk to me, honey," Faith says, still holding the boy in her arms. "What is it?"

Ryan refuses to answer, but instead, continues to keep his eyes fixated on the menacing intruder.

Faith gently runs her hand over the boy's forehead then leans down to place herself into his line of vision.

Ryan blinks a few times then gazes at the woman in front of him. Through his confusion, he looks down slightly and sees a button attached to the nurse's scrubs.

"Wh... what's up D... Doc..."

"That's right," Faith encourages with a heartfelt smile. "Gotta love Bugs Bunny..."

Ryan looks back down at the foot of the bed and sees nothing there... no rat, no blood...

"S... Sandy..."

"What about Sandy?" Faith asks quietly.

"I w... want Sandy..."

"I just paged Mr. Cohen a few minutes ago," Hope says as she helps Faith dress the boy in a clean hospital gown.

"I'll get Sandy, alright Ryan?" Faith assures. "He's probably talking with Dr. Morrison right now."

"Mmm... 'kay," Ryan mumbles as he allows the nurses to dress him without taking his eyes off the foot of the bed.

 _I need Sandy..._


	21. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **I realize time is passing very slowly in this story. Back in chapter one it was late Friday afternoon. Now, at chapter twenty, it's late Sunday morning. Things often happen simultaneously, so in the last chapter when Sandy was visiting Trey, Ryan was having his nightmare and subsequent hallucination. Probably a whopping 15 to 20 minutes passed by last chapter. Things should start to pick up soon as I try to bring this trilogy to a conclusion.**

 **A quick reply to** **Guest** **(who enjoys waffles)** It was Trey who told Sandy that Ryan likes to make his own decisions, not Sandy. Sandy immediately responded to Trey's remark in the following paragraph. Sorry for the confusion. Writer's slip-up. I probably should have added a "Trey says" for clarification. I do my own proofreading and sometimes feel there are too many "he says/she states" etc., so I try to put the character's personality into their dialog. I'll pay more attention to those details when I write. :-)

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Twenty

"Sandy! Where have you been?" Kirsten asks impatiently, anxious to talk with Dr. Morrison.

"Yeah, Dad, we've been waiting..."

"I was visiting Trey," Sandy explains, deciding to fess up and tell the truth, knowing he has other more important things he needs to keep to himself... for the time being. "He wanted to see me."

"Trey? He's still here?" Kirsten asks, confused but irritated. "Why isn't he in prison?"

"He's being transferred to the penitentiary infirmary tomorrow," Sandy replies.

"Why in the world did you go see him?" Kirsten asks, becoming even more agitated. "What did he want?"

Sandy sighs, really not wanting to have this conversation. "He wants to see Ryan."

"What? Is he out of his mind?" Kirsten shouts in total disbelief. "Please, Sandy... please tell me you didn't agree to this."

Kirsten looks intently at her husband. A man she knows always strives to be fair; always tries to do what's right for everyone... the public defender; the diplomat.

 _"The bleeding heart liberal,"_ her father would say with utter disdain and disgust.

A caring man with an uncanny ability to see the good in others. It's one of the many reasons she married him and why she loves him so much.

"It's complicated, honey," is all Sandy can think of to say at the moment.

"Mr. and Mrs. Cohen, thank you for coming," Anne states as she approaches the family from down the hall. "Why don't you step inside my office so we can talk."

Sandy, Kirsten and Seth quickly start to make their way inside Anne's office, anxious to hear what she has to say about Ryan's condition.

"I'm sorry, Seth," Anne apologizes, "but I need to speak with your parents in private."

"But why? I want to hear how he's doing," Seth protests.

"I understand but..."

"It's not fair! Why can't I..."

"Seth, that's enough!" Sandy interrupts, trying desperately to hang onto what shred of patience he has left.

"Seth, as Ryan's doctor, I can only discuss his medical tests and treatment options with either a parent or legal guardian," Anne explains calmly. "It's called the 'patient's right to privacy'. I'm not keeping you from this meeting on purpose. As a doctor, my hands are tied, both legally and ethically. Ryan is not able to, at the moment, make decisions regarding his treatment, but your parents can."

Anne offers a reassuring smile, understanding the teenager's frustration. "Your parents can answer any questions you may have when we're done talking."

"I suppose..." Seth sighs, hanging his head down with shoulders slumped.

"There is something you could do for Ryan, if it's alright with your parents," Anne says.

"Really?" Seth says, perking up a bit. "What is it? I'll do anything."

"Ryan's going to be here for at least a few more days, probably longer," Anne says. "It would be nice for him to have some of his personal belongings like undershirts, sleep pants, socks and clothes for when he is able to go home. Also some toiletries; a toothbrush and toothpaste... things like that."

"That's an excellent idea," Kirsten says as she hands Seth her car keys, knowing her son just wants to help out and feel needed. "Maybe you could also bring that book Ryan started reading last week and anything else you think he might enjoy."

"And pack up a couple of overnight bags for us," Sandy adds. "I'll get a hotel room so we're not driving back and forth."

"I'm on it!" Seth chirps with new found energy as he struts down the hallway to the elevators.

"Oh, and Seth..."

"I know, I know! Drive five under the speed limit, keep the radio volume low and no talking on my cell phone!"

Anne, Sandy and Kirsten watch as Seth quickly disappears into the elevator after the doors close behind him.

"Okay, now that that's taken care of, why don't you both step inside my office," Anne says, holding the door open for the anxious parents.

"Have Ryan's test results come back?" Kirsten asks nervously, hoping the doctor's news will be good.

"Yes, we've isolated the bacterial infection," Anne replies, taking a seat at her desk as she motions to Sandy and Kirsten to sit. "As I said earlier, the cut on Ryan's thigh got infected. We irrigated the wound and covered it, but because it got infected, we were not able to suture it."

Anne takes a stack of folders and opens them up in front of her.

"Ryan has developed a staph infection..."

"Oh my god," Kirsten gasps as she places her hand over her mouth, knowing how dangerous a staph infection can be.

"But, let me continue," Anne states calmly, realizing how scary that can sound to a parent. "We've caught the infection in time. Ryan's body has responded quite well to the antibiotics. One of the first things we look at are the kidneys and Ryan's are functioning perfectly."

"So this is good news. This is very good news," Sandy says with relief, taking his wife's trembling hand into his to try to calm her.

"Yes, it is," Anne replies with a comforting smile. "We're treating the infection with cephalexin."

"Cepha what?" Sandy asks.

"It's also known as Keflex," Anne explains. "Ryan's fever is down and I'm confident that with the full two-week course treatment, the staph infection will be ancient history."

"I can't tell you how relieved we are to hear this news," Kirsten states, her voice slightly shaky as she squeezes her husband's hand.

"I know the detectives had to make a very difficult decision yesterday," Anne says, remembering it wasn't that long ago Ryan was still trapped in the dark basement. "No one wants there to be a loss of life, even when it's the criminal's. But, I truly believe that if the detectives decided to continue to negotiate with AJ, we would be sitting here having a very different conversation."

"Can we see him now, Dr. Morrison?" Kirsten asks.

"Of course, but I need to discuss one more thing with you before you see him."

Sandy and Kirsten both take in a deep breath, wondering what more the doctor needs to tell them.

"When Ryan woke up earlier, he was very confused," Anne says. "He seems to have some short-term memory loss."

"Do you mean he has amnesia?" Sandy asks.

"No, not in the way most people think of amnesia," Anne replies. "Ryan hasn't sustained any head injury."

"Then why does he have memory loss?" Sandy probes, wanting to understand the complete picture.

"It's not uncommon for patients to have some confusion and memory loss after being sedated," Anne explains. "Combine that with the physical and emotional trauma that Ryan has endured, it's not surprising he's having some issues with his memory."

Anne looks at both parents, their faces a mix of worry and confusion.

"There were a few hours that we don't know what happened... when AJ released me and Ryan was alone," Anne says. "Ryan is the only person who knows..."

"Do you think AJ hurt him more?" Kirsten interrupts, her voice trembling as she imagines the horror of being at the mercy of Dawn's ex-boyfriend.

"I don't believe so. When I was with Ryan, I tended to his injuries. When I examined him again here, the only new injuries were a cut on his hand and his sprained ankle," Anne answers calmly. "Ryan's hands were bound behind his back. If AJ returned to the basement and beat him, there would have been physical evidence of the beating."

"It was pitch dark in that basement," Sandy adds, remembering the SWAT team having to use the lights on their rifles and headgear.

"Ryan may have had some sort of emotional or psychological breakdown," Anne says, knowing what Sandy is already thinking. "The brain is an extraordinary organ. It will bury a trauma if it becomes too much for the person to bear. It's a protection mechanism."

"How long will the memory loss last?" Kirsten asks.

"It depends. Sometimes it only lasts a few minutes, sometimes a few hours. What's important is that Ryan recalls the memories himself. If we were to tell him everything that has happened, it would only confuse and upset him more."

"Will Dr. Evans be able to come over here?" Sandy asks, hoping the psychologist will be able to help the boy through this trauma and also talk to him about how to handle Frank's questionable paternity.

"Yes, I spoke with him on the phone just a short while ago," Anne replies. "He's in San Francisco at a conference, but believes he can get back here sometime later this evening."

"I feel bad he has to come all the way out here again," Kirsten sighs.

"He's a child psychologist, honey," Sandy replies. "It's part of his job."

"Your husband is right, Mrs. Cohen. Dr. Evans's specialty is with teens and preteens. Many of his patients are in institutions like psychiatric hospitals and juvenile detention centers. Often the child isn't able to come to him, so he must go to the child."

A sudden knock on the door startles the three adults as they all look over to see who it is.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Hope says as she opens the door and peeks inside the office. "Ryan woke up again and he had a bad dream." Hope looks over to Sandy, his expression serious and sullen. "He's asking for you, Sandy."

"I should go to him," Sandy says as he immediately stands up, his voice slightly frantic.

"Is someone with him now?" Anne asks with concern.

"Yes, Faith is with him. He hasn't been left alone."

"All right, we'll be there shortly," Anne states as she gathers up the folders on her desk, then quickly ushers the parents out into the hallway.

"Mrs. Cohen, I think it might be best if just your husband and I look in on Ryan," Anne says gently, knowing the woman wants desperately to see the boy. "Just until we can calm him..."

"Of course, I understand," Kirsten interrupts, not wanting the doctor to feel bad.

"You sure, sweetheart?" Sandy asks, surprised she isn't putting up more of a protest.

"You go on ahead. There are actually some things I need to take care of," Kirsten says. "I've got to cancel appointments with clients that I have this coming week and also call the school and leave a message excusing Seth and Ryan from class."

"Oh, my god, I completely forgot about that," Sandy says. "I'm glad you're on top of things, honey."

"Well somebody has to be," Kirsten says with a small smile as she gives her husband a hug.

Kirsten watches as Sandy and Anne walk away, then abruptly turns and makes a beeline to the closest nurse's station.

"Hi, can I help you?" the young nurse asks.

"Yes, I need the room number of a patient here," Kirsten replies, her voice suddenly calm as she prepares to embark on her mission.

"Who are you looking for?"

Kirsten clears her throat and leans her arms on the counter.

"Trey Atwood," Kirsten states. "I need to see Trey Atwood."

* * *

Sandy steps inside the room with Anne, anxious to see Ryan. He sees the boy sitting up in bed, staring down at the white blanket; the bruising on his face and neck a stark contrast to his pale complexion. Sandy wants to ask Ryan how he's doing but decides not to, knowing that the boy will most likely reply "I'm fine".

 _And you are not fine,_ Sandy thinks to himself as he makes his way over to Ryan's bedside.

"Hey, kiddo, I'm right here," Sandy says in a quiet, gentle tone of voice as he lowers the guard rail and sits down on the edge of the bed. "I was talking with Dr. Morrison. Even if I'm not here in the room, I'm always close by."

Sandy waits a moment for the boy to respond but hears nothing.

"Just ask the nurse to come and get me," Sandy continues when he gets no response. "I'm always near, alright?"

"Mmm... 'kay."

Sandy offers a warm smile and places his hand upon the boy's shoulder. "Hope told me you had a bad dream. Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No."

"Sometimes when you talk about it..."

"I s... said no," Ryan interrupts as he glances over at Sandy, his voice unsteady and weak.

"Okay, you don't have to talk about it right now," Sandy reassures as he gives the boy's tense shoulder a gentle squeeze. "But, I'm right here if you decide you want to tell me about your dream."

Anne stands off to the side with Faith and Hope, deciding it would be best to observe for the time being.

Ryan looks back down at the white blanket and grips the soft fabric in his left hand. "I see things..." Ryan whispers.

Sandy leans in closer to hear the boy's soft-spoken words.

"Things that aren't here but... seem real... I d... don't... I don't know... sometimes I don't know what's real..."

Sandy sees a stray tear escape from the corner of Ryan's eye. The boy quickly wipes it away, hoping no one has noticed.

"What things do you see?" Sandy asks, wishing he could just teleport Dr. Evans into the room instead of waiting until tonight.

"J... just things," Ryan replies as he pulls on an errant thread in the blanket, keeping his answer vague.

Sandy lets out a plaintive sigh, knowing he can't push the boy too hard. He'll just completely shut down. Vague answers are better than no answers.

Anne places her hands on Faith's and Hope's arms, leaning in to form a huddle.

"Do either of you know anything about the dream he had?" Anne asks both nurses in a hushed voice.

"No, he was upset when he woke up," Faith whispers. "He started asking for Sandy."

"What about his pain level," Anne continues. "Have you cut back on the pain meds?"

"Yes, we've been weaning him slowly," Hope says as she quietly walks the doctor over to the monitor so she can view the updated charts.

Anne scans through the information, then glances over at Ryan.

"It's important that we continue to assess his pain level. Ryan has a high pain tolerance and I know he will never bring it up or complain if he's hurting," Anne whispers to both nurses.

"Even after everything he's been through?" Faith asks before Hope can get the exact same words out.

"Believe me, I know," Anne states quietly. "Ryan won't complain if he's in pain or if he does, he'll try to downplay it."

 _You won't complain, will you,_ Anne thinks to herself as she watches the boy being consoled by Sandy. _You'll just think you're being a bother..._

* * *

Kirsten walks down the long hallway, looking for room number three. She stops checking room numbers when she spots a policeman cringing and shuffling his feet at the end of the hall.

 _Holy crap... Jesus, I need to use the john..._

"You look uncomfortable," Kirsten says as she approaches the young officer.

"Oh, hello ma'am."

"Is there anything I can do to help, Officer..." Kirsten takes a quick look at the young man's badge to try to read his name.

"Rodgers. Officer Sean Rodgers, ma'am."

Kirsten smiles at the young man's politeness. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, well... actually no. As you can see I've drank quite a lot of coffee," Sean explains as he nods his head down towards a small tower of white styrofoam cups placed next to a trash bin. "The nurses keep bringing me coffee. Guess they felt sorry for me havin' guard duty all night."

Kirsten watches the young officer's complexion turn red with embarrassment as he crosses his right leg in front of his left and continues his story.

"I just got word that the officer who's supposed to relieve me is going to be late... flat tire."

"And you need to use the restroom but you can't leave your post," Kirsten says, trying not to smile at the poor man's predicament.

"Ah, pretty and perceptive," Sean says with a pained but appreciative smile.

"Well, it just so happens that I know Trey," Kirsten says. "My husband and I are in the process of adopting his younger brother."

"Ya don't say..."

"I would be more than happy to stay here while you use the restroom," Kirsten offers.

"I dunno... I'm not supposed to..."

"Or, I could get one of the nurses to bring over a bedpan..."

The young officer's brown eyes widen with panic at the thought of using a bedpan.

"Who's going to know?" Kirsten asks, hoping the officer will take her up on her offer. "I'll stay here, I promise. I'll even check in on Trey... make sure he's not too comfortable."

Sean chuckles nervously at the woman's remark, not quite sure if she's kidding or serious.

"And you should get something to eat," Kirsten adds in her motherly tone of voice. "If your replacement has a flat tire, he's probably going to be awhile."

"You're right... all right," Sean relents, realizing he has no other choice. "I should only be ten... fifteen minutes tops."

"Take your time," Kirsten says with a smile as she watches the young officer waddle down the hall in search of the men's room.

 _Take as much time as you need..._

* * *

Sandy carefully adjusts the plastic tubing behind Ryan's ear and tucks an errant strand of dark blond hair behind the boy's earlobe.

 _We need to get you a haircut,_ Sandy thinks to himself, somewhat surprised by his mundane thought. Sandy chalks it up to his desire to help; his need to do something for Ryan... anything. Instead, he watches the boy sit motionless in the bed, staring out at nothing; the silence in the room broken occasionally by the sounds on the monitor keeping track of his heart rate, oxygen level and blood pressure.

 _God, what I'd give to be able to read your mind..._

Sandy moves his hand back down to Ryan's shoulder and continues to rub him gently, hoping the boy will eventually start to open up.

"My d... dad... is he... is he really..."

Sandy tenses up slightly and suddenly becomes worried. Did Trey find a way to talk to Ryan while he and Kirsten were meeting with Dr. Morrison?

"Is my d... dad... is he really dead?"

Sandy breathes a sigh of relief, feeling confident he can answer the boy's question.

"Yes, Ryan... your father... Frank is dead."

"Then why w... won't he leave me alone? Sometimes I see him or I... or I hear him... I c... can smell him. I c... can feel him touching me... his hands... c... cold... so cold..."

Ryan wraps his arms around himself and shivers slightly at the thought.

"Sometimes I see b... blood... so m... much blood..."

Sandy instinctively pulls the distraught boy into his arms and offers the warmth and comfort of a hug.

"I'm sorry, Ryan... I am so sorry you're going through this," Sandy whispers as he fights back his own tears. "I wish to God I could take all of your pain away."

"I j... just want him to g... go away, Sandy."

 _I want him to leave me alone..._

* * *

Kirsten opens the door to Trey's room and sees him laying in bed with his eyes closed.

 _He looks far too comfortable,_ Kirsten thinks to herself as she quietly makes her way to his bedside.

"Wake up, Trey," Kirsten snaps as she drops her handbag down on the side table.

Trey immediately opens his eyes, startled by the noise.

"Mrs. Cohen, what are you doing here?" Trey says, trying to stifle a yawn.

Kirsten doesn't answer, but instead opens her purse and takes out a metal nail file.

"Whoa... whoa... what the hell?" Trey asks, becoming alarmed as Kirsten presses the sharp tip of the file against his cheek.

"You think you're going to see Ryan? Well, think again," Kirsten says in a calm, calculated voice. "I will not let you anywhere near that boy. Do you hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear ya, but your husband..."

"My husband has a big heart... too big sometimes..."

"Ryan's my brother," Trey says, wondering if the woman would actually hurt him with her nail file. "I'll see him whether you like it or not."

"Tell me, Trey... when you were with your drug dealer friend..."

"He ain't my friend," Trey corrects.

"Did you watch him hold a knife to Ryan's throat?" Kirsten asks, ignoring Trey's last statement.

Kirsten presses the sharp tip further into Trey's cheek, just enough to cause pain but not to draw blood.

"You're insane!" Trey spits out as he attempts to reach for the call button to alert someone he's in trouble. He lets out an exasperated sigh when he realizes the button is out of his reach. "Hey, somebody! There's a crazy woman in my room!"

"No one can hear you, Trey," Kirsten snarls as she digs the sharp tip deeper into his cheek, this time drawing a small bead of blood onto his skin. "And no one is going to come help you."

"You are fuckin' insane, woman..."

"No Trey, I'm not insane. I'm angry. Angry at you for endangering your brother. Angry at your mother for putting her booze and boyfriends before her own flesh and blood. Angry at Frank for trying to kill an innocent kid. But most of all, I'm angry at my father for being a greedy, self-centered, uncaring bastard!"

Kirsten lifts the nail file from Trey's cheek and washes it off at the sink before placing it back in her purse.

Trey places his hand over his sore cheek, wondering if the woman has any more weapons hidden in her handbag.

"Oh, and one more thing, Trey," Kirsten says as she begins to take her leave. "If you happen to see my father in prison, will you give him a message for me?"

"Sure, what..." Trey mumbles, feeling tired and defeated.

"Tell him I hope he rots in hell."

* * *

"What about food. Has he eaten anything?" Anne asks, remaining off to the side with Faith and Hope.

"Not yet," Faith replies. "Carlos is bringing up some soup and crackers."

"Carlos? Who's Carlos?" Anne asks.

"He's a new orderly."

"What happened to Dan?" Anne inquires, disappointed the orderly who helped Ryan the last time he was hospitalized isn't here. She was hoping to surround the boy with as many friendly and familiar faces as possible. "Ryan really liked Dan. He actually trusted him."

"Dan is taking a temporary leave of absence to care for his sick mother," Hope explains, understanding the doctor's frustration. "She has cancer."

"Why do bad things always seem to happen to good people," Anne sighs, more to herself than to the nurses as she walks over to Ryan's bedside and stands, opposite Sandy.

"Ryan, I'm just going to listen to your lungs," Anne says, deciding to take advantage of the boy sitting upright with Sandy holding him.

Anne rubs the chestpiece of her stethoscope on the sleeve of her lab coat to warm it. She carefully unties the middle of the hospital gown, then gently places it upon the boy's bare back.

"Just breathe normal."

Anne listens intently as she looks closely at Ryan's back, searching for any new bruises that may have cropped up or she may have missed during her initial examination.

"Is he alright, doctor?" Sandy asks, remembering when Ryan had pneumonia. He would hate for the boy to suffer through that again, on top of everything else.

"His lungs are clear... everything sounds good," Anne replies as she ties the hospital gown back up. "Ryan, we're having some food brought up. Are you hungry?"

"No... not really..."

"It's important that you eat something so you'll gain your strength back," Anne says, knowing she's stating the obvious but the words are ingrained in her "doctor" brain.

"Mmm... 'kay..."

Anne places her hand gently upon Ryan's head, concerned with the boy's despondency and slight detachment.

 _I'm sure he's just exhausted,_ Anne thinks to herself as she runs her hand over the top of Ryan's head.

Anne glances over at Sandy; his dark blue eyes etched deep with concern as he continues to hold the boy in his arms. She looks at her young patient; his head leaning against Sandy's broad shoulder; his eyes tired and glassy, staring down at the white blanket.

 _Or it may be the calm before the storm..._


	22. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **I know this site tends to be a bit "glitchy" so I thank you all for being patient.**

 **A quick note to** **anon** **:** occasionally reviews don't get posted right away on the website. This has happened a handful of times to me as well as to other writers. We report it and wait patiently for it to be corrected. Sometimes it takes a few days, sometimes a few weeks. I have my account set up to receive reviews via my email, so even if they don't get posted on the site right away, I do see them. :-)

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Twenty-one

Anne observes Ryan as Sandy continues to hold him. She notes the way the boy's arms are crossed in front of his body and wrapped tightly around waist; struggling to keep things in but, at the same time, longing to keep things out. With his wary eyes still cast downward and staring at the white blanket, Anne wonders how much pain he's in, both physically and emotionally.

"Ryan, we've been slowly cutting back on the pain medication, so it's important that you tell me or the nurses if you're in a lot of discomfort."

"Why are you cutting back on the pain meds?" Sandy asks.

"Well, everyone is different. A specific dose may work for one person but may be too much or too little for another," Anne explains. "Take your son, Seth, for example. Even though, on the dosage chart, he and Ryan fall into the same range for age, height and weight, I can guarantee you Seth would require a higher dose of pain medication than Ryan."

"That's an understatement," Sandy replies, recalling a few months ago when his son got a paper cut. It was a full-blown, sirens-blaring medical emergency.

"Overmedicating can be more harmful than undermedicating, especially with kids and teenagers. Their bodies can react differently to pain medication... be more sensitive to opiates... than an adult's body," Anne continues. "This is why it's so important for the patient to communicate their level of discomfort to us."

Anne leans down and runs her hand gently over Ryan's head, threading her fingers through his dark blond hair.

"On a scale of one to ten, Ryan... with ten being the most severe, what would you say your pain level is right now?" Anne asks with a tone of voice that's soft and soothing.

"Mmmm... three..."

"Just a three?" Anne asks, thinking that answer is a little on the low side.

"M... m... maybe a four."

"Do you hurt all over or somewhere specific," Anne asks, hoping the boy will be forthcoming.

"Ache just a little. My s... side hurts..."

"Why don't you lie back and let me have a look," Anne says, propping up some pillows as Sandy slowly lowers the boy down onto the bed.

"Excuse me, I hate to interrupt but there's a Dr. Evans on the line."

Anne looks up and sees a male nurse in his mid-to-late thirties with light brown hair and an athletic build standing in the doorway. She adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose and makes out the name "David" on his name tag.

"He's asked to speak with a Sandy Cohen. Would that be you, sir?"

"Yes, that's me," Sandy says, conflicted with leaving Ryan to take the call or staying and missing the chance to talk to the psychologist.

"Mr. Cohen, I need to examine Ryan," Anne says, wanting to help the man with his dilemma. "We'll leave the curtain open just enough so Ryan can watch you from the bed."

Anne turns and looks at Ryan, then takes his left hand and squeezes it gently.

"Is that alright with you, Ryan?" Anne asks, wanting the boy to be comfortable with Sandy leaving for a few minutes. "He'll be right over there at the nurse's station." Anne points out towards the hallway, showing Ryan where Sandy will be.

"Mmm... 'kay..."

"Are you sure?" Sandy asks, still torn with the thought of leaving.

"Yeah... I'm fine."

Sandy smiles warmly and shakes his head in disbelief. If he had a dollar for every time Ryan has uttered those words, he'd be a very rich man by now.

"All right, I'll be just a couple of minutes," Sandy says as he makes his way to the nurse's station. Sandy takes the phone receiver from David then turns around and looks towards Ryan's room, checking to make sure the boy is in full view. If he can see Ryan, then Ryan can see him.

"Dr. Evans, this is Sandy Cohen."

 _"Mr. Cohen, thank you for taking my call. I've been delayed at the airport here in San Francisco. Something to do with an auxiliary system malfunction uncovered during a routine safety check. I don't know... I understand people, not machinery."_

"Well, it's better they find the problem before take-off rather than after," Sandy replies. "Do you know about how long you'll be?"

 _"They said the delay would be an hour or two. I would rent a car and drive back but I'm pretty tired. I was planning on sneaking in a little catnap on the plane."_

"I understand. That's a long drive," Sandy acknowledges, having made the trip a few times himself.

 _"I spoke with Dr. Morrison earlier about Ryan's condition and what has transpired over the past twenty-four hours, but the reason I wanted to talk to you is I would like to know how you're doing. You, your wife and son..."_

"We're hanging in there... you know... it's hard."

 _"And you, Mr. Cohen? How are you holding up? You've been through a lot... placed yourself in grave danger and watched a man get shot..."_

"It's really all a blur to me right now," Sandy replies. "Honestly, the only thing I had on my mind was getting Ryan out safely. The detectives, the police and the SWAT team... they were incredible."

 _"Well, if you ever need to talk, I'll be more than happy to listen."_

"Thank you. I appreciate it," Sandy says earnestly. "Actually, if you have a few minutes, I could sure use your advice on something."

 _"Of course... anything."_

"I spoke with Ryan's brother, Trey, earlier today," Sandy says as he glances over at Ryan, making sure he still has the boy in his view. "He told me... maybe more like confided in me..."

 _"It's alright, Mr. Cohen, just take a deep breath..."_

Sandy takes in a deep breath and wills himself to relax. "Trey told me that Frank isn't Ryan's biological father."

 _"Oh my... that's quite the revelation. Do you believe him?"_

"Yes, I do. Trey has no reason to lie about something like this," Sandy says as he holds his hand up to Ryan and smiles, reassuring the boy he's still close by. "I think he's been wanting to tell Ryan but just hasn't been able to find the right time. Now that he's going to prison for awhile, he's passed the deep, dark secret onto me."

 _"And you're not sure if you should tell Ryan..."_

"Honestly, I'm torn. Part of me wants to keep it a secret. He's gone through so much, but... I don't know, the thought of keeping something like this from the kid..."

 _"Here's my advice, Mr. Cohen. Even though I haven't known Ryan for very long, there is one thing I do know. He doesn't appreciate having things kept from him and he certainly doesn't like being lied to. If you keep this from Ryan and he finds out... let's say his mother decides to confess her secret or Trey brings it up thinking you've already told him..."_

"He'd be devastated..."

 _"And, most likely, very angry..."_

Sandy lets out a long sigh, not even bothering to mask his frustration and fatigue.

 _"You've come so far with the boy. He trusts you. Do not destroy that trust."_

"But when should I tell him?" Sandy asks. "My god, he's been through hell..."

 _"Trust your instincts, Mr. Cohen. They've gotten you this far with Ryan. You'll know when the time is right. It may not be today or even tomorrow. But don't wait too long."_

"You're right..."

 _"I could tell him when I see him, if you prefer..."_

"No, it should be me," Sandy says. "Thank you, Dr. Evans."

 _"You're welcome. I'll see you soon."_

* * *

Anne carefully pulls the hospital gown up to Ryan's chest and checks the bandage over the stab wound. She then presses the tips of her fingers gently into his abdomen, making a circular path around his navel.

"Does this hurt?" Anne asks, wanting to know exactly how much pain the boy's in.

"A little..."

"Let's increase the dose slightly to help him through the night," Anne instructs both nurses. "And now that Ryan's no longer sedated, you can remove the catheter. The last thing I want is for him to get a urinary tract infection on top of everything else."

"Yes, Dr. Morrison," both Faith and Hope reply in unison.

"Or, if you prefer, I can get David to remove the catheter," Anne says to Ryan, knowing he may want a male nurse for something so personal.

"Mmm... 'kay..." Ryan mumbles as he looks down at the bandage on the side of his waist. "W... was I in an accident?"

"No, you weren't in an accident," Anne replies directly, remembering what Dr. Evans told her over the phone.

 _"Answer his questions honestly but don't offer details. Allow the boy to recall the events on his own."_

Ryan glances up at Anne and notices bruising on her chin. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion. "Were you in an accident?"

Anne pulls the hospital gown back down as she realizes she hasn't reapplied concealer on her chin in awhile. "No, I wasn't in an accident."

"D... did some... someone hurt you?" Ryan asks as he brings his bandaged right hand up to his chin, alerting the doctor to the bruising.

"Yes, someone did hurt me. But, I'm alright now," Anne replies with a reassuring smile.

Ryan looks at his bandaged hand and the dark purple bruising on his forearm. He notices red chafing and small cuts around both of his wrists and wonders how he got the ligature marks.

"Tengo una sopa caliente para el muchacho."

"Ah, muchas gracias, Carlos," Faith says as she takes the tray of food from the orderly, appreciating him speaking Spanish so she can become more fluent in the language. She hates having to wait for an interpreter when she has a patient who does not speak English.

"Ryan? Ryan, what is it?" Anne asked, suddenly alarmed that the boy's pulse and heart rate has jumped.

Ryan feels his heart begin to beat rapidly as cold sweat beads up on his forehead. He gasps as he again looks at his wrists, then places his hands over the front of his neck.

"M... m... muchacho... he k... kept calling m... me muchacho..."

"It's alright, Ryan. You're safe now," Anne says, realizing that hearing an innocuous word has triggered a memory.

Ryan swallows back the bile rising in his throat. He begins to feel sick to his stomach as the low, foreboding voice of Ramon Cruz intrudes inside his head.

 _"Why so pale, muchacho. You look like you've seen a ghost."_

"Ryan, look at me," Anne orders firmly but in a gentle tone of voice. "You need to look at me."

 _"El no escucha... he just wouldn't listen. So... I cut off his ears."_

"Nnnn... knife... he had a knife..."

 _"If he lies to me again, I will cut out your tongue..."_

"Ryan places his bandaged hand over his cheek, sensing the sharp, jagged blade grazing down the side of his face. He then places his other hand over his thigh, remembering his captor pressing the hunting knife into his skin, just deep enough to make him bleed.

 _"Your brother has screwed up again, muchacho. This will not bode well for you..."_

"T... Trey... accident... he was in an accident."

"Yes, Trey was in a car accident but he's fine. He's here in the hospital," Anne explains as she removes the nasal cannula. "You're beginning to hyperventilate, Ryan. You need to breathe slowly."

"What's going on?" Sandy asks as he frantically hurries back into the room.

"He's remembering what happened yesterday," Anne says as she places her hands on Ryan's shoulders while Hope lowers the head of the bed so the boy will lie flat.

"He had a g... gun... my dad... no, AJ... AJ had a gun..."

"AJ cannot hurt you anymore," Anne assures. "You're safe here, Ryan."

Ryan feels tingling around his mouth as he continues to hyperventilate. He begins twisting and turning his torso, trying desperately to wriggle out of Anne's hold. He attempts to thrash his arms in protest of being held down.

"Ryan, let Dr. Morrison help you," Sandy pleads as he instinctively places his hands on the boy's legs to keep him from kicking.

"It w... was d... dark... so dark... c... couldn't see..."

Ryan begins to feel light-headed from the lack of carbon dioxide in his blood. As his panic continues to rise, his arms start to tingle as the muscles in his hands and feet begin to spasm.

"He was c... coming after me. C... couldn't see anything... d... dark," Ryan chokes out through his short breaths. "He k... kept t... touching me... hands... c... could feel hands. Ice cold hands..."

Faith immediately begins clearing the area around Ryan's bed as Hope readies the restraints, just in case they are unable to settle the boy down.

"Ryan, remember what I did the last time you were hyperventilating?" Anne asks as she carefully places her hand over the boy's mouth, forcing him to breathe through his nose.

Ryan's eyes dart frantically around the room. He sees Faith and Hope standing on both sides of the bed, holding his lower arms to keep him from flailing. He glances down at Sandy standing at the foot of the bed, holding his legs down; looking worried and distraught.

"You need to trust me. Look at me, Ryan," Anne says as she places her finger against his nostril. "Breathe slowly, in and out. You need to concentrate... breathe nice and slow."

"Look at Dr. Morrison, Ryan," Sandy urges, hoping the boy will follow the simple instruction.

Ryan reluctantly takes his eyes off Sandy and looks directly at Anne.

"Breathe with me, Ryan. Nice and slow." Anne takes in a deep breath through her nose then exhales slowly, never taking her eyes off the frantic boy.

"You're doing great, kid. Keep it up," Sandy encourages.

Anne continues to breathe in unison with Ryan until his breathing slows. She removes her finger from his nostril, then lifts her hand from his mouth.

"I r... remember..."

"It's alright now," Anne reassures as she pushes Ryan's damp bangs off his forehead and replaces the nasal cannula.

Ryan's breath quivers as he struggles to fight back his tears. He turns his head away from everyone and closes his eyes, struggling to keep them shut. Unable to keep them closed, Ryan opens his eyes and stares out at nothing.

 _I remember... I remember everything..._


	23. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **In my stories I like to have Seth mature emotionally. I've always liked his relationship with Ryan. It was unique and he was an important part of Ryan's life. Plus, I need to break up the angst and Seth is a great "angst breaker". ;-)**

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I really appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Twenty-two

Sandy sits quietly in a chair next to Ryan's bed, feeling at a complete loss as to what to say or do.

Faith and Hope had gotten the boy comfortably sitting up again with pillows placed behind his head and his sprained ankle slightly elevated. They both needed to finish their rounds but urged Sandy to try to get Ryan to eat something.

Anne stands on the other side of the bed and studies Ryan with concern. She notes how the boy is sitting completely still and just staring down at his lap. She wonders if he has even blinked his eyes.

"Ryan, I'm so sorry if we hurt you earlier when we were holding you down," Anne says softly as she gently runs her fingers over his bruised forearm. "We couldn't risk you accidentally hurting yourself. You could have tried to remove your IV or hit your head..."

Anne suddenly feels her pager vibrate in the pocket of her lab coat. She takes the pager out and looks at it, then lets out a long, frustrated sigh.

"Mr. Cohen, I'm needed back in the ER," Anne states, reluctant to leave but knowing she must. "I'll return later to check on Ryan."

"All right... thank you, Dr. Morrison," Sandy replies. "Oh, if you happen to see my wife..."

"I'll let her know what happened and that you need a little more time alone with Ryan."

Sandy smiles and lets out a sigh of relief, appreciating the doctor's insight and understanding.

"Ryan, I'll be back in a little while," Anne says quietly as she gently places her hand on the boy's shoulder. "Sandy is here with you and if you need anything... anything at all, just ask."

Sandy watches Anne leave the room, then returns his attention to Ryan. He leans over and sets his elbows on the edge of the bed with his forearms upright and his hands clasped together. With his fingers interlaced, Sandy rests his chin on his knuckles and observes the silent boy.

 _Flat affect,_ Sandy thinks to himself. The lack of emotional expression. He's seen it before in a few of his past cases. It's typically observed in people with autism, schizophrenia or severe depression but can also be found in victims of chronic physical and/or sexual abuse. He knows he needs to engage the boy but not overwhelm him.

"Ryan, how about you try eating something. It's been almost two days since you've had anything solid to eat."

Sandy looks over at the bowl of soup on the table, but decides to pass on the soup and go with the crackers instead.

"Dr. Morrison told me that if you started eating and were able to hold the food down, you could be moved to a regular room," Sandy says in a quiet, steady voice. "It would be a private room with large windows so it would be sunny. You'd like to see the sun, wouldn't you Ryan?"

Sandy glances over at the boy, hoping to get some sort of a reaction, but he gets nothing. He unwraps the saltine cracker, then places it in the palm of Ryan's hand.

"Try to eat, Ryan. Can you do that?" Sandy urges as he carefully folds Ryan's fingers around the cracker then gently rubs the boy's knuckles. "Can you do that for me?"

Ryan glances over at his hand with guarded eyes and slowly ponders Sandy's request.

"Please, Ryan... try to eat," Sandy says one more time as he sits back in the chair to give the boy some space.

Ryan tentatively brings his hand up to his mouth and takes a small bite off the corner of the cracker; not so much for himself but for Sandy. He chews slowly then lowers his arm and rests his hand on his lap. He stares down at the rest of the uneaten cracker in his palm, then forms a tight fist, crushing it in his hand.

"He hurt her... AJ... he hurt Dr. Morrison." Ryan glances over at Sandy, making direct eye contact with his guardian. "Just like he hurt my m... mom..."

"AJ can't hurt anyone anymore," Sandy says as he takes a napkin to clean the boy's hand.

"He'll do his t... time in prison... then get out," Ryan states, knowing how the system works. "Then he'll hurt someone else. Nothing will change..."

"Ryan, AJ is dead."

"What?"

"AJ... he's dead."

Ryan looks down at his lap, trying to wrap his head around what he's just heard.

"The detectives and the SWAT team... they felt they had no other choice," Sandy explains calmly, realizing the boy has no knowledge of his rescue. How could he. When his was found, he was semi-conscious and curled up in a ball on the floor in a dark basement. "They knew you were injured and in need of medical attention. They believed AJ was not going to surrender or give you up."

Ryan looks up at Sandy and studies the man's solemn face.

"A sniper shot him," Sandy states, recalling how the man dropped dead to the ground after the bullet penetrated his skull.

"Good. I'm glad he's dead," Ryan states coldly as he lowers his head and returns to staring at his lap.

 _Now he'll finally meet my father..._

* * *

Seth opens the front door and steps into the foyer; the house eerily quiet for an early Sunday evening. He tosses the keys onto the hall table, then with his long legs, takes two steps at a time up the staircase. He immediately goes to the hall closet and grabs an overnight bag, then quickly makes his way to the bathroom.

"Toothbrush... toothpaste," Seth mumbles out loud even though no one is around. "And a comb. His hair might be messy."

Seth throws the toiletries in the bag then makes his way to Ryan's bedroom.

"Sleep pants, socks, underwear... sorry dude, I know you don't like me going through your stuff, but I'm under strict orders from mom," Seth says, as if his friend is in the room. "And undershirts." _V-neck or sleeveless_ , Seth ponders to himself. "V-neck. He's in the hospital. He'll want more coverage."

Seth closes the dresser drawer, satisfied with the clothes he selected. "Now for some entertainment..."

Seth makes a beeline to his bedroom and opens his desk drawer. He grabs a stack of comic books and cd's then suddenly stops.

"What am I doing." Seth slouches his shoulders and lets out a long, exasperated sigh. "I don't think Ryan really likes comic books all that much. He just reads them because I ask him to," Seth admits to himself. "And I'm not sure if he even likes Deathcab. He just listens to them when I ask him..."

Seth suddenly hears his mother's voice pop inside his head.

 _"Bring that book Ryan started reading last week and anything else you think he might enjoy."_

Seth places the items back in his desk and makes his way to Ryan's room. He walks over to the bed and sees a book on the side table.

" _Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy_ by John le Carre..."

Seth opens the book and leafs through the pages. "Looks complicated... the Cold War... spies... lots of words and zero pictures. Yep, Ryan will love it."

Seth places the book in the overnight bag then pulls open the drawer of the side table.

"For Ryan: Marisa's mix 1." Seth picks up the cd Marisa had made for his friend and flips it around in his hand. "I'm not really sure if Ryan liked the music Marisa picked out for him," Seth says to no one in particular. "I know he listened to it, but he never told me if he liked it or not."

Seth puts the cd back, then scrounges around the drawer looking for other music.

"Ah hah! Bingo!" Seth proclaims as he picks up a set of cd's. "Journey... I know Ryan will like these."

Seth places the music along with Ryan's cd player and headphones in the overnight bag then makes his way back downstairs. After packing a couple of more overnight bags for himself and his parents, Seth grabs the keys off the hall table and leaves his house.

 _Maybe I'll listen to some "Journey",_ Seth thinks to himself as he gets into the Rover to make his way back to the hospital. _A decent power ballad never hurt anyone..._

* * *

"My b... brother... he's here?"

"Yes, Trey is here... not in the ICU, though," Sandy replies honestly. "He's going to be transferred to the penitentiary infirmary tomorrow."

"He's going to prison?"

"Trey has made a lot of mistakes over the past couple of days. Yes, he's going to prison."

Ryan lets out a plaintive sigh, disappointed again in his older brother.

"I spoke with Trey this morning. He wants to see you before he leaves the hospital tomorrow," Sandy says, wanting to be forthcoming. "I told him it was up to you, but if you don't want to see him, Ryan... that's okay." Sandy glances over at the boy, trying to gauge his demeanor. "If you decide you do want to see your brother, I will not leave you alone with him. I would stay..."

"No."

"No, you don't want to see your brother or no, you don't want me to stay with you."

"No, I don't want to see my brother. At least not... not right now," Ryan says quietly, the sadness in his voice penetrable as he gazes down at his bandaged hand. "Maybe someday, but... I'm just not ready right now. I can't see him..."

"I understand. And it's okay, Ryan," Sandy replies as he gently pats the boy's hand. "I'll let Trey know. Don't worry about it... don't worry about a thing."

Sandy gives Ryan's hand a gentle squeeze, hoping the boy won't send himself on a guilt trip for not wanting to see his brother.

"It was too much..."

"Too much?" Sandy inquires, slightly confused.

"Too much mmm... money."

"It wasn't that much. If only Trey had just come to us..."

"No, not what Trey owed," Ryan says, looking over at Sandy. "You were going to pay... pay all that money..."

"You mean the ransom? Kirsten and I never gave it a second thought."

Ryan looks at Sandy longingly, needing to understand. "You could have died. I'm not worth..."

"Stop. Stop right now," Sandy interrupts. "I won't lie to you and tell you it wasn't dangerous, but I'd do it again in a second."

Sandy looks into Ryan's bloodshot eyes and leans into him slightly. "Money is just money. Family is what's important," Sandy says, accentuating the word "family". "I know I've told you this before, Ryan, and you must believe me. You are a part of our family."

Sandy waits a moment in silence, allowing the boy time to digest his words.

"Kirsten and I... we always wanted two kids," Sandy continues. "But after Seth was born... I don't know... it was hard. Seth was a colicky baby. I remember a lot of sleepless nights. Between taking care of Seth and concentrating on our careers, well... the time... it just slipped away..."

Sandy gets out of the chair and sits down on the bed next to Ryan. "We weren't happy. We, as a family... we had drifted apart."

"But you seemed so happy..."

Sandy places his hand upon Ryan's forearm. "Do you remember that picture we took at Christmas? I had set the tripod up and we all sat in front of the fireplace..."

"Yeah, I remember..."

"When you look at that picture, tell me... what do you see?"

Ryan peers down at his lap and bites his lower lip as he contemplates Sandy's question.

"I see people who have helped me... people who opened their home... opened their hearts... "

Ryan lets out a soft sigh remembering how happy and safe he felt over the holiday. "You gave me a home when I had no place to go..."

"Do you know what I see?" Sandy asks as he gently rubs Ryan's forearm. "I see a family. A happy, complete family."

"But it was just by chance that we met," Ryan adds. "That you were my Public Defender..."

"Was it by chance? I don't know... maybe," Sandy says. "Or maybe it was God's will. He has been known to work in mysterious ways."

Ryan lowers his head as he listens to Sandy's words. He runs his finger around the edge of the gauze wrapped around his hand, finding a loose thread to pull on.

"This is what I do know, Ryan. Kirsten and I are closer than we've ever been, even closer than we were in college. I have a son who's emerged from his shell. He's vibrant and happy."

Sandy places his hand under Ryan's chin and gently lifts the boy's head, needing to make eye contact.

"When I look at that picture, I see a family. When I look at you, I see my second son," Sandy says earnestly. "You, Ryan, have made our family complete."


	24. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **When I first published "To Be Seventeen" back in April 2013, I never dreamed that story would turn into a three-part saga. But the one thing I have strove for is to have Ryan learn to trust others and become comfortable as a member of the Cohen family.**

 **I've been wanting to write this chapter for a long time. This is the turning point for Ryan in his long, albeit painful journey. After this chapter, things should start to look a little brighter. :-)**

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I really appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Twenty-three

Hope pulls the privacy curtain open and quietly steps inside the room. She notices Sandy sitting on the bed and Ryan eating his bowl of soup.

"I'm sorry to interrupt..."

"No, you're not interrupting," Sandy assures with a warm smile as he hands Ryan a napkin.

"I wanted to check in before I leave..."

"You're leaving?" Sandy asks, not even trying to mask his disappointment as he stands up to give the nurse access to Ryan.

"Just for the night," Hope replies, smiling at the thought she may be missed. "Both Faith and I have been working double shifts. We're taking the evening off, but we'll both be back first thing tomorrow morning."

"You must be exhausted," Sandy says, stifling a yawn.

"We're used to the long shifts, but we both want to be here tomorrow," Hope says as she makes her way over to Ryan's bedside. "David will be Ryan's night nurse. I'll have him bring in some blankets and a pillow... and also that comfortable recliner..."

"Sandy, you d... don't have to stay..."

"I'm staying here tonight," Sandy states emphatically.

"But what about Kirsten and Seth?"

"They're staying at a hotel," Sandy replies. "It's just a few blocks away."

Ryan looks down at the now empty bowl of soup and lets out a soft sigh.

"And before you even think it, it's not an inconvenience," Sandy adds, knowing that look on Ryan's face. "We want to be here. If Seth was in the hospital, we would be doing the exact same thing."

"I see you were able to eat a little," Hope says as she takes the food tray and sets it out in the hall for the orderly to pick up. "That's good. Dr. Morrison will be very pleased."

"Will she be coming back up here tonight?" Sandy asks.

"I'm not sure. I know she has her hands full in the ER," Hope replies. "There was a major car accident on the highway. Something like a ten car pile up. A few people had to be airlifted and taken to HOAG. We took the rest."

"A car accident? Really?" Sandy asks, slightly alarmed. "Seth went back to Newport to pack up some things for us..."

"Why don't you give your wife a call," Hope proposes, sensing concern in the man's voice. "I'll stay here with Ryan."

"I don't know... I don't want to leave..."

"You should c... call Kirsten and Seth. Mmm... make sure they're alright."

Sandy places his hand upon Ryan's shoulder and squeezes gently. "All right, I won't be long."

Sandy begins to make his way out of the room, then turns around and looks at the nurse. "You won't leave him, right? You won't leave him alone..."

"I promise," Hope assures with a thoughtful smile. "Now go. Call your wife."

Sandy walks out of the ICU and into the hallway. With the night approaching, he has little trouble finding a quiet corner to make his phone call. Sandy fumbles around in his jacket pocket, then finally takes out his cell phone. He notices his hands trembling slightly as he pushes the speed dial button.

 _"Sandy? Is everything alright?"_

Sandy immediately begins to relax when he hears the sound of his wife's voice. "I was going to ask you the same thing," Sandy replies. "Are you okay? Did Seth make it back alright?"

 _"We're fine, honey. Seth returned awhile ago. He's asleep right now."_

Sandy lets out a huge sigh of relief.

 _"You'd be proud of him, Sandy. He did a good job selecting some things for Ryan and packing our overnight bags."_

Sandy smiles, happy his son was able to take some initiative and be of help.

 _"How's Ryan? Is he doing any better?"_

"He is doing better," Sandy replies. "He was able to eat a little and he's engaging me more. You know... talking..."

 _"Ryan 'talking' is always a good thing."_

"We'll know more tomorrow."

 _"I want to see him, Sandy... I miss him."_

"I know you do," Sandy acknowledges, feeling pained by the sadness he hears in his wife's voice. "Dr. Evans should be here tomorrow morning. He and Dr. Morrison will most likely want to see Ryan alone. Why don't you and Seth come here and we can get some breakfast."

 _"All right, that sounds like a good plan."_

"Get some sleep, sweetheart. I love you."

 _"I love you too. See you tomorrow..."_

Sandy tucks his cell phone in his jacket pocket and quickly makes his way back to the ICU. When he steps inside Ryan's room, he notices Hope injecting something into the IV line.

"Ah, Mr. Cohen... you're back," Hope says warmly. "How's your wife and son? Are they alright?"

"Yes, they're fine," Sandy replies. "What are you doing?"

"As I've just explained to Ryan, Dr. Morrison has prescribed a bump in his pain meds for the night. It should help keep him more comfortable and hopefully he'll get some much needed sleep."

"Yes, sleep is good," Sandy says as he finds himself wondering about Ryan's last nightmare; a dream the boy's been reluctant to talk about.

"Tomorrow we should be able to get you out of this bed," Hope says to Ryan as she adjusts the pillows behind his head. "If you can eat some breakfast and walk a little, maybe down to the bathroom, we can move you into a regular room."

"Will he be able to put weight on his ankle?" Sandy inquires.

"The swelling has gone down considerably," Hope replies. "We'll give him a walker and assist him. We won't let him walk by himself."

Hope straightens the blankets around Ryan, then places the remote next to his arm.

"This button is to call the nurse," Hope explains, showing Ryan the location of the call button. "If you need to use the bathroom tonight, just push this button and David will help you into the wheelchair and..."

"I d... don't need any help," Ryan interrupts.

"It's hospital policy, Ryan. A nurse needs to assist you in case you lose your balance and fall."

Hope notices the boy lower his head and wrap his arms tightly around himself.

"We're trained for this, Ryan," Hope says softly as she gently places her hand on his forearm. "Let us do our job."

 _"Well, can't have you wettin' the bed now, can we..."_

Ryan's breath quivers slightly and his body shudders. He clenches the blanket in his left fist as his father's ominous voice echoes inside his head.

 _"Take off your clothes. Jesus... what are you, shy?"_

Ryan feels a cold draft of air circle around him; the memory of waking up in a motel room, handcuffed to a bed; disoriented and confused... at his father's mercy...

 _"Leave the door open..."_

Hope adjusts the room light to low then turns her attention back to Sandy and Ryan.

"Is there anything I can get you before I leave?"

"I think we're fine for now," Sandy replies. "Thank you, Hope."

"Very well, I'll see you both tomorrow."

Sandy waits for the nurse to leave and close the curtain, then sits down in the chair next to the bed. He notices Ryan staring down at his lap, twisting a loose thread around his left index finger.

 _He's thinking... I've seen this before,_ Sandy tells himself. _Maybe he wants to talk about something..._

Sandy ponders whether to coax the boy into talking or to wait. He decides to wait and let Ryan initiate the conversation.

 _When he's ready to talk, he'll talk..._

Silence envelops the room. Sandy leans his head back and fights the urge to say something. His mind begins to drift as he recalls all the times Dr. Evans had come to the house to see Ryan. He would watch them sitting poolside through the kitchen window; the psychologist, a master at the art of patience while Ryan would sit silent with his head lowered. Eventually, the boy would begin to speak and the doctor would engage and take notes.

Sandy closes his eyes for just a mere moment, then he hears Ryan's soft voice break the silence.

"I remember, I was six..."

Sandy immediately sits up straight and leans his forearms on the edge of the bed, clasping his hands together; eager to hear what the boy wants to say.

"It was a Friday night. I was watching the baseball game with my dad... the Padres and... I don't remember..." Ryan continues to twist the loose thread around his finger, willing himself to recall the other team. "My dad was obsessed with the Padres."

Sandy listens intently, concentrating on his every word. He knows that for most little boys, watching a ball game with their father would be a cherished memory. But, Sandy knows better.

 _This isn't going to be a typical child's memory,_ Sandy thinks to himself. _This is Ryan's memory..._

"My mom was working a late shift at Denny's. Trey was staying over at a friend's house..."

Ryan shifts slightly in the bed and bites his lower lip. He unwraps the thread from around his finger, then immediately begins twisting it again.

"My dad told me to get him a beer."

Sandy shakes his head in disbelief. The man couldn't wait for a commercial to get himself a beer. He had a six-year-old do it for him.

"I went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, but the beer was on the top shelf. I couldn't reach it."

Sandy places his hand gently upon the boy's leg, but remains silent.

"I got a kitchen chair and dragged it over to the refrigerator. I climbed up on the chair and grabbed a beer but..."

"But, what?" Sandy asks, breaking his silence.

"It slipped from my hand and... and I dropped it."

Sandy instinctively gives Ryan's leg a gentle squeeze. He tries to mask the pained expression on his face as he waits for the boy to continue.

"It was a can of beer... I remember feeling so relieved it didn't break."

Ryan turns his head away for a moment and composes himself, then glances back down at his index finger, now wrapped tightly in thread.

"I gave the beer to my dad but when he opened the can... the beer... it sprayed all over him."

Sandy sighs as he pictures the scenario in his head. Sure, having a beer foam up over your hand and onto your lap may make someone curse, but most people would get over it quickly; maybe even laugh. Sandy's fairly certain Frank didn't take the golden opportunity to explain some fun "cool" science facts to a kindergartner.

"He was so angry... thought I shook the can on purpose..."

 _Why am I not surprised,_ Sandy thinks to himself.

"He was yelling... I started crying... I kept saying I was sorry...I didn't know..."

"Of course, you didn't know," Sandy says softly, wanting to reassure the boy.

"That's when he grabbed my arm... dragged me out to the garage..."

Sandy suddenly feels a knot form in the pit of his stomach; a sick feeling... a feeling of dread as he pictures the large, angry man dragging a small, helpless child to face his punishment.

"There was this corner... in the garage..." Ryan pauses a moment and swallows the lump in his throat; the painful memory still fresh in his mind even though it happened ten years ago. "There were these chains... attached... they were attached to u-bolts screwed into the floor."

Sandy gets up off his chair and sits on the bed next to Ryan. He's suddenly overcome with this need to get closer to the boy; be near him so he can protect him... help him...

"It was always where he put Trey when he misbehaved... which was often..." Ryan's eyes dart over to Sandy, then quickly back down again. "My dad pushed me down into the corner and started wrapping the chains around me... strapping my arms to my side. I remember him pulling the chains so tight... I couldn't move them... my arms... at all."

Ryan trembles slightly as he recalls his nightmare; the cold, heavy chains snaking around his body. Being imprisoned; feeling helpless... unable to move.

"He secured the chains together behind my neck with a padlock. Then he told me... told me I had to stay there..." Ryan lets out a soft, plaintive sigh. "I had to stay there until the baseball game was over."

Ryan clenches his fist and pulls the thread tighter around his finger, willing the physical pain to mask his anxiety and inner turmoil.

"I think... I think he forgot about me. Or maybe... maybe the game went into extra innings..." Ryan says softly, practically whispering as he blinks away an errant tear. "It started to get dark. The sun was setting and... I don't know how long... how many hours..."

Sandy feels his heart crush under the weight of Ryan's words. He wonders how many of these horrific memories Dr. Evans has listened to.

"The cement floor was so cold... so hard. My arms became numb," Ryan says, his voice weak and shaking. "I started crying... I was so scared..."

Anxiety creeps through Ryan as he remembers being trapped in the filthy garage; the stale air full of old dust, the room dark and foreboding. He recalls how the moonlight cast eerie shadows through the small, side window; the limbs of a dead tree slashing against the siding as the wind picked up from a brewing, late summer storm.

"I couldn't cry out for help. If my dad heard, he would've gotten more angry."

Sandy gently runs his hand over Ryan's leg, wanting the boy to know he's not alone.

 _And no one is angry at you,_ Sandy thinks to himself. _You don't have to be afraid anymore..._

"Finally, my mom came home," Ryan continues, sensing Sandy's gentle touch. "She unchained me and carried me into the house. I remember seeing my dad sound asleep in his chair... the game was long over..."

Everything begins to blur as tears well up in Ryan's eyes. As he tries to blink them away, he feels one teardrop escape and fall onto his hand.

"After my mom put me to bed, she went back out into the living room. I heard her yell at my dad. They started fighting... then... then my dad... he started beating her... she was screaming and crying... I put the blanket over me, cur... curled up in a ball and put my hands over my ears... I tried to block everything out."

Ryan pierces his lips together and continues to stare down at his lap. "I just hid under the blanket... felt so helpless... couldn't do anything..."

"Ryan, you were only six," Sandy says softly.

"I decided then... decided that when I got bigger... older... I would protect her."

Sandy sits next to Ryan, again at a loss for words. Silence hangs in the air as he carefully takes the boy's hand and unravels the tight thread from around his finger.

"I hate him... I hate him so much," Ryan says, his voice still shaky but a bit stronger. "I remember wishing... I would wish so hard that he wasn't my father."

Ryan glances down at his finger, now free of thread but sightly discolored; throbbing in pain.

"And now... now that he's dead, I still hate him. Now... even though he's d... dead, I still wish he wasn't my father." Ryan makes a tight fist with his left hand, then releases it as he feels the pain in his finger begin to subside. "I'd give anything... anything at all if he wasn't... wasn't my father."

Sandy sits quietly next to Ryan and thinks about what Trey had told him just this morning.

 _"Frank Atwood isn't Ryan's father."_

He looks over at Ryan and sees the boy staring down at his bandaged hand, most likely physically and emotionally exhausted from divulging such a traumatic memory. Then he suddenly hears Dr. Evans' voice...

 _"Trust your instincts, Mr. Cohen. They've gotten you this far with Ryan. You'll know when the time is right."_

"Ryan... Ryan, I need to tell you something..."

Ryan glances up at Sandy and notices the somber expression etched upon the man's tired face.

"There's a chance that Frank isn't your biological father."

"What?"

"Your brother told me... this morning..."

"But... but I don't understand."

"According to Trey, your mother had an affair," Sandy explains. "She let Frank believe that you were his son..."

"B... but why?"

"Because she was afraid. She was afraid for what he might do... to her... to you..."

Ryan wraps his arms tightly around himself as he tries to make sense of what he's hearing.

"When Frank went to prison, your mother told Trey. She made him swear to keep it a secret."

Sandy places his hand on Ryan's forearm and gently squeezes, needing the contact not only for Ryan, but for himself.

"It was not fair for your mother to place such a burden upon your brother. He was only eleven," Sandy continues.

"So why did Trey say something now?"

"I think it's because he's going to prison," Sandy replies honestly. "He knows your mother will never tell you the truth. If something happens to him while he's incarcerated, well... I think he needed to let me know so I could tell you when I felt the time was right."

"I don't... I don't know what to think..."

"I know this is a lot to process and I am so sorry..."

"I'm not angry," Ryan interrupts, not wanting his guardian to feel guilty. "I just... I don't know what I feel..."

Sandy inches a little closer to Ryan, hoping his presence will remind the boy he's not alone.

"My mom should've told me... especially now... now that he's dead."

"Trey gave me a name," Sandy says, feeling he must be of help any way he can. "My question is, Ryan... do you want me to try to find him?"

Silence lingers in the air as Sandy places his hand on Ryan's shoulder, wanting... needing to console the boy.

"I have the resources, Ryan. My investigator... my friend, Sam... he can look for your father. If he's still alive, Sam will find him."

Ryan bites his lower lip and stares down at his bandaged hand, contemplating Sandy's offer.

"I could look for him. If that is what you want..."

"No," Ryan says, glancing up at Sandy.

"Ryan, I'm here to help you. I'll do anything..."

"I said no," Ryan states emphatically. "I already have a father."

"Ryan, I want to..."

"I already have a father," Ryan says again as he looks Sandy square in the eye. "And he's sitting right here."

Sandy smiles as tears of joy fill his eyes when he hears Ryan's words. He sits for a moment, motionless, and replays the words over in his head.

 _"I already have a father... he's sitting right here..."_

"You bet he's sitting right here, and this dad's not going anywhere."

Ryan smiles as he watches the man's eyes suddenly become bright; his entire face light up with joy.

"Come're," Sandy says, wrapping his arms around Ryan, embracing the boy in a heartfelt hug.

Ryan leans into Sandy, accepting the man's warm, comforting embrace.

Sandy feels Ryan relax in his arms. Time seems to stand still as he holds the boy. He's not sure if he's holding a six-year-old or a sixteen-year-old. Maybe a little of both... it doesn't really matter. All that matters is that Ryan considers him his father now.

 _And I finally have your trust..._


	25. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **I know a lot of readers questioned Sandy telling the truth to Ryan about Frank. In my mind, Sandy did the right thing. Dr. Evans had told Sandy not to wait too long. If he had waited another day or two, Ryan would have been upset with Sandy for withholding the truth from him. He would have wondered if he could completely trust Sandy since the man wasn't open and honest with him. Honesty is very important to Ryan, at least that's how I've always perceived the character. Even though the truth can hurt, it's better than being kept in the dark. Ryan also knows that he no longer has to fight his battles alone anymore. :-)**

 **I'm also getting the impression that some readers want this story to continue for awhile longer. Believe me, that is the highest compliment a writer can receive and I am truly grateful.**

 **I've included some individual replies at the end of this chapter and, as always, thank you for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Twenty-four

Anne hurries down the hallway to the ICU, feeling rejuvenated after catching a few hours sleep. She's anxious to see Ryan and hopes the boy was able to sleep through the night.

"Good morning, ladies," Anne says quietly as she enters Ryan's room.

"Good morning, Dr. Morrison," both Faith and Hope reply in unison.

"How's our young patient doing this morning?"

"Still asleep," Faith answers.

Ryan hears the sound of hushed voices as he slowly emerges from his slumber. He opens his eyes, blinks a few times and notices three women gazing down at him.

"Mmmm... it's Faith, Hope," Ryan mumbles before glancing over at Anne. "And Charity..."

Faith and Hope look at one another, slightly confused by the boy's words **.**

"Maybe he's still a little loopy from the medication," Hope says, remembering she increased the dose last night before leaving.

"Either that, or he thinks we're Christian martyred saints," Faith replies in jest.

Anne smiles down at the groggy boy, then gives him a playful wink. She then brings her finger up to her lips and utters a quiet "shhh", reminding him of their shared secrets.

Ryan slowly brings his left hand up to his mouth and places his finger over his lips, letting the doctor know he remembers their secret pact.

"Let's get you sitting up, shall we?" Faith says as she slowly raises the head of the bed while Hope rearranges the pillows behind Ryan's back.

Ryan allows the nurses to help get him comfortable as he looks around the room.

"Where's Sandy?"

"Sandy went to the restroom," Hope immediately replies, knowing the boy seems most at ease when his guardian is with him.

"He stayed with you all night," Faith adds. "You were never left alone."

Ryan glances over at the recliner and notices a bunched up blanket and scrunched pillow. "I must have slept through the night..."

"Yes, you did," Sandy says, hurrying back into the room. "I woke up a couple of times to check on you... I don't think you budged an inch."

"Ryan, I'd like to take a look at your leg," Anne says as she dons a pair of medical gloves.

Anne lifts the blanket off Ryan's left leg to expose his thigh, then carefully removes the gauze dressing.

"How is it, Dr. Morrison... the infection," Sandy inquires nervously.

"Healing quite well," Anne responds with confidence.

Ryan tentatively glances down at the wound that came courtesy of Ramon's sharp blade, bracing himself for the worst. He lets out a long sigh of relief to see it's not gaping open and oozing with pus.

"The redness will eventually go away," Anne tells Ryan, sensing his concern. "Is it painful?"

"Mmm... just sore... the muscle," Ryan replies.

"It will be sore for awhile, I'm afraid," Anne says as she wraps the wound back up with the gauze bandage. "But every day should get a little bit better."

"Are you hungry, Ryan?" Hope asks. "I can get you something from the cafeteria."

"Yeah... actually, I am a little hungry," Ryan replies, feeling a few rumblings in his stomach.

"How about some buttered toast and orange juice," Hope proposes. "And maybe some scrambled eggs?"

"That sounds good... thanks."

"And you, Sandy? Can I get you anything?" Hope asks before leaving.

"A cup of coffee would be great," Sandy replies, knowing he'll get something to eat with Kirsten and Seth later.

"Ryan, I need you to take this pill," Anne says.

"What's it for?" Ryan asks, never liking to take anything unless it's for a good reason.

"It's a probiotic," Anne replies as she places the pill in the palm of Ryan's hand and sets a cup of water down on the side table.

"I thought... thought I was on antibiotics."

"You are, but this is a precaution against developing a secondary infection," Anne explains. "When you were first brought to the ER, I knew your leg was infected. I just didn't know what the culprit was. So I had to put you on what we call 'broad spectrum' antibiotics to bide time while the lab ran tests."

"How could he get a secondary infection?" Sandy asks as he places his hands behind Ryan's back, helping the boy sit up straight so he can swallow the pill.

"The thing with broad spectrum antibiotics is that they not only kill the bad guys, they kill the good guys too," Anne elaborates. "As soon as the lab results came back and showed a staph infection, Ryan was placed on an antibiotic specific for that bacterial strain. But now, we need to replace the good guys. Believe me, you don't want him contracting C. diff."

"So, how long does he have to take them?" Sandy asks out of curiosity.

"He needs to take one pill twice daily for two weeks, then one a day for another month or two," Anne replies. "It never hurts to go longer."

Ryan swallows the pill and drinks the glass of water when suddenly he realizes he needs to use the bathroom.

"Ryan, do you feel up to taking a short walk?" Faith asks, sensing the boy may need to use the restroom. "Sandy and I can help you."

"Yeah... d... definitely."

Ryan starts to get out of bed but is quickly held back by Anne.

"One step at a time, Ryan," Anne says in a gentle tone of voice. "We need to get you unhooked from the monitor and get some socks on your feet."

"I c... can do it..."

"No, I can do it," Faith says with a warm smile as she places non-slip socks on Ryan's feet, always amazed by the boy's fierce desire to be independent.

"Mr. Cohen, can you grab an extra hospital gown from the cabinet?" Anne asks. "Bottom drawer."

"Of course," Sandy says, taking a gown out and handing it over to Anne.

Anne drapes the hospital gown around Ryan's shoulders, helping him guide his arms through the sleeve holes. She then loosely ties the gown in front, satisfied the boy will be fully covered.

"All right, nurse... he's all yours."

Faith takes hold of Ryan's left arm and helps him up to a standing position, then steadies him with the walker.

"Only old people use these..." Ryan mutters.

"And young people who have a sprained ankle and other injuries that make it too difficult to use crutches," Faith adds gently. "The walker will help you keep your balance."

"Can I help? What can I do?" Sandy asks anxiously.

"Of course, you can help," Faith replies. "Stand on Ryan's right side and place your left hand on the small of his back."

Sandy immediately takes his position opposite the nurse and does as he's instructed.

"Now thread your right arm under Ryan's arm," Faith continues as she demonstrates from her side. "Think of it as spotting a gymnast. You just want to be in a position to catch Ryan in case he loses his balance and falls."

"Got it," Sandy acknowledges.

"Okay, Ryan... try walking, nice and slow," Faith says.

Ryan takes a step, then another, somewhat surprised by how shaky he is.

"Guess I needed the walker..."

"You're doing great," Faith encourages, happy the boy is out of bed and moving around. "It's not much further... just around the corner."

Ryan stops outside the private restroom while the nurse opens the door and turns on the light. He then proceeds inside and wonders if he'll be given any privacy.

"Sandy and I will be right outside in the hall."

"Do I have to leave the door open?" Ryan asks.

"No, of course not," Faith replies earnestly. "Just don't lock the door in case you do need any help."

"Mmm... 'kay..."

Faith walks over to Ryan and gently places her hand on his shoulder. "Take your time, Ryan. There's no rush. I'll be close by if you need me."

Faith leaves the restroom and closes the door, then stands next to Sandy in the hallway.

"How are you holding up, Sandy?"

"Who me? I'm doing alright," Sandy replies. "Why do you ask?"

"I ask because I'm not quite sure what Ryan would do without you..." Faith looks over at Sandy and offers a warm smile. "You've been a godsend to that boy."

Ryan flushes the toilet then gingerly walks over to the sink. He makes a mental note never to take something as basic as going to the bathroom for granted ever again. He turns on the faucet and leans over the sink, then splashes some cool water onto his face. Standing back up straight, he stares at his stark, pale reflection in the mirror; the droplets of water running off his face, trickling down his bruised neck.

"Why didn't you tell me, Mom," Ryan whispers as he continues to stare at his reflection. "I understand why you didn't tell Da... him..."

Ryan dries his face off with a paper towel, then takes hold of the walker and begins to make his way to the door.

 _But you should have told me..._

Ryan's demeanor suddenly turns brighter when the bathroom door opens and he sees Faith and Sandy standing in front of him.

"Ready to head back to the room?" Sandy asks, immediately taking his position on Ryan's right side as Faith stands on the boy's left.

"Yeah... I'm ready," Ryan replies, wishing he didn't need anyone's help but nonetheless, grateful.

"Ah... you're back," Anne says as she finishes updating Ryan's chart.

Sandy and Faith help Ryan back into bed while Anne removes the extra hospital gown so the boy won't get too warm.

"How are you doing?" Anne asks. "Did it feel alright to walk a little?"

"Yeah, it felt good to get out of bed," Ryan replies.

"I hope you're still hungry," Hope says as she enters the room with Ryan's breakfast and Sandy's coffee.

"I am."

"So, Dr. Morrison, you mentioned Ryan could be moved to a regular room today," Sandy says.

"Yes, I'm pleased to announce Ryan doesn't need to be in the ICU anymore. After he's done eating, we'll move him to a private room on the second floor."

Ryan takes a sip of his orange juice and a bite of his toast. Even though he's looking forward to leaving the ICU and its claustrophobic confines, he can't help but wish he could bring Faith and Hope with him.

"Don't think you'll be getting rid of us," Hope says, happy the boy is moving to a better room, but knowing she'll miss him. "Faith and I will check in on you from time to time."

"That's right," Faith agrees. "Suddenly I have this urge to take all my coffee breaks on the second floor."

Ryan glances down and smiles slightly, trying to keep himself from blushing.

"Ryan, do you remember Judy and Melanie?" Anne asks. "They took care of you the first time you were here in the ER with pneumonia."

"Yeah, I remember them," Ryan replies, recalling the young, pretty nurses.

"Well, Judy now works on the second floor so you'll probably be seeing her."

"Why did she leave the ER?" Sandy asks out of curiosity.

"Judy is studying to become a Physician's Assistant and she needed steadier hours," Anne replies. "Working in the ER... well, it can be a little chaotic at times. You can't very well leave in the middle of giving someone CPR just because your shift is over. You never know when you may need to stay longer, whether it be five minutes or five hours."

"Ah, that makes sense..."

"Sandy, you should... you should have something to eat," Ryan says, offering to share his scrambled eggs.

"I was planning on getting some breakfast with Kirsten and Seth," Sandy replies.

"That's actually a good idea," Anne says. "Dr. Evans will be here shortly and he'll want some time alone with Ryan after we get him settled in his new room. Why don't you come back later this afternoon."

"Really? Later this afternoon?"

"It's alright, Sandy," Ryan says, sensing the man's reluctance to leave. "You need to see Kirsten and Seth... and get some... something to eat."

"Are you sure, Ryan? Because I'll stay..."

"I'm sure," Ryan interrupts. "Please go..."

Sandy hesitates for a moment, then begins to make his way out of the room.

"But, you need to promise me one thing," Ryan says softly.

Sandy stops in the threshold and turns to look at Ryan.

"You need to promise me... promise me you'll come back."

"Of course, I'll be back," Sandy says, walking over to Ryan's bedside. Sandy leans over and wraps his arms around Ryan, embracing the boy in a warm, heartfelt hug.

 _Nothing will keep me away from you..._

* * *

Sandy steps out into the bright sunlight and breathes in the fresh air. With the temperature already climbing into the low 60's for a March morning, Sandy smiles knowing the day will be warm and inviting.

"Mr. Cohen?"

Sandy turns his head towards the familiar voice and sees Trey sitting in a wheelchair, handcuffed to the armrests.

"Trey..." Sandy utters as he reluctantly walks over to the young man, his "sunny day" demeanor immediately crushed.

"Yeah... so... I guess this is it," Trey mutters. "I'm on my way to the big house."

Sandy remains silent, unsure of what to say to Ryan's older brother.

"How's Ry? Is he doin' any better?"

"Yes, he's improving every day," Sandy replies. "He's being moved out of the ICU today. The infection in his leg is under control."

"That's good news," Trey utters with relief.

 _That's really good news..._

"I was wonderin'... if you... ya know, told Ryan that I wanted to see him."

"I did, Trey... and... I'm sorry," Sandy states with honesty, seeing the hurt expression emerge across the young man's face. "Ryan doesn't want to see you... at least..." Sandy pauses, wanting to choose the right words. "At least not right now. He's been through so much."

"I understand, Mr. Cohen," Trey says, not bothering to mask his disappointment. "Thanks... ya know... for tryin'."

"All right, Atwood... time to go," a seasoned policeman says as he undoes the handcuffs and immediately secures them behind Trey's back.

Sandy watches as Trey is ushered into the backseat of the police car; the officer's hand cupping the top of his head, making sure he clears the door frame.

"Trey... just a bit of advice," Sandy says, leaning into the backseat before the officer has a chance to close the car door. "When you get out of prison, you're still going to be a young man. I suggest you use your time wisely. Take advantage of the education program the system has to offer. Get your GED, learn a trade... do something."

Sandy places his hand upon Trey's shoulder, willing the young man to make eye contact.

"If you desire to have any relationship with your brother, take responsibility for what you've done and make amends. It's up to you, Trey... it's up to you how you want to play this."

Sandy stands back up and shuts the car door, hoping the young man will take his words to heart.

 _But, I won't hold my breath..._

"Sandy?"

Sandy turns around and smiles when he sees Kirsten and Seth walking towards him.

"Sweetheart... oh my god, I've missed you," Sandy says as he embraces his wife.

"I've missed you too," Kirsten says.

"So Ryan... how is he?" Seth inquires nervously. "Can I... we see him?"

"Ryan's doing better but you probably won't be able to see him until later this afternoon," Sandy replies.

"Why? What's going on, Sandy?" Kirsten asks with concern.

"He's being moved to the second floor and then Dr. Evans will be seeing him," Sandy explains. "I've been ordered, by Ryan, to get some breakfast."

"And a shower," Kirsten adds, grimacing at the rank odor emanating from her husband. "When did you last bathe?"

"Oh my... Friday? Before we went to the fundraiser dinner," Sandy says, realizing it's now Monday. "Let's go back to the hotel room. I'll shower and you guys can find a good place to eat."

"Flo's Diner," Seth answers without hesitation.

"Flo's?" both Sandy and Kirsten ask in unison.

"It's the diner where Dawn used to work," Seth explains. "I went there with Marisa, remember? When we were trying to find Ryan... you know, when he left to go live with his mother but she lied about where she lived and worked because she had been fired for being drunk and spilling coffee on a patron, and she was still with AJ and he beat Ryan which landed him here in the hospital and well..." Seth takes in a deep breath, then continues. "I only had a cup of coffee. It looked like a really good place to eat, though. What do you say?"

"Flo's it is," Sandy says, placing his arms around Kirsten and Seth as the three of them walk back to the car.

"That's right, Dad," Seth says. "A shower, a shave and a short stack awaits thee..."

Sandy smiles as he walks with his wife and son, looking forward to getting cleaned up, having a good breakfast... and getting back to Ryan.

* * *

Ryan lays in bed and stares out the window, appreciating the sunny day. Judy had gotten him comfortable and brought him a few magazines to read while he waited for Dr. Evans.

"Knock, knock," Gabriel says, peeking inside the room.

Ryan looks over at his psychologist as he enters the room, his charcoal gray suit a perfect match to his salt and pepper beard. He watches as the doctor pulls a chair over to the side of the bed and adjusts his round, wire-rimmed glasses. Ryan recalls their very first session; how he barely spoke a word over the course of the hour. Back then, he distrusted the man and was hesitant to share his innermost thoughts and feelings. But now, he actually looks forward to their weekly sessions.

"I was able to talk a little with Dr. Morrison about what happened," Gabriel says, taking out his notepad and pen. "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing okay," Ryan says softly.

"I know, physically, you're going to be fine, but I mean emotionally. How are you feeling."

Ryan glances back out the window as he ponders the doctor's question.

"I feel... I guess I feel angry."

"Angry at AJ? Ramon?" Gabriel asks, wanting the boy to elaborate.

"No, Trey," Ryan states quietly. "I'm angry at Trey."

"Why are you angry at Trey?"

"B... b... because he put Dr. Morrison's life in d... danger," Ryan says as he continues to stare out the window. "Because he stole... stole from Wanda... our friend."

 _My friend..._

Tears begin to well up in Ryan's eyes as he turns to look at Dr. Evans.

"I'm angry because now..." Ryan pauses a moment and swallows back the lump in his throat. "Now he's going back to prison. I thought I had my brother back. I thought he had changed... but now I feel like... I feel like I've lost him again."

"Your brother made a lot of poor choices. He needs to take responsibility for what he's done."

"I know... I just wish he told me he was in trouble. Maybe... I don't know... maybe I could have helped. I know Sandy would have helped."

Ryan quickly wipes an errant tear from his cheek as he remembers Friday night.

 _Why didn't I stay in the damn car..._

"What about AJ?" Gabriel asks, knowing the boy has a volatile history with the man.

"I'm glad he's dead."

"Are you angry at him?"

"He held a g... gun to Dr. Morrison's head... he hit her... he was going to..."

Ryan immediately stops talking as he envisions the vile man placing his hands on Anne; how he had finally broke free of his bonds, the anger surging up inside him as he wrestled AJ to the floor before feeling the intense pain from the sharp blade entering his side.

"I was angry but now... now I just hate him. I still hate him... even though he's dead..."

"No one will blame you for hating AJ, or for being angry..."

"My brother..." Ryan interrupts, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of sadness. "I know I said that I'm angry at him but..."

"But what?"

Ryan looks directly at his therapist, hoping he'll get an honest, straight answer.

"Can you love and hate someone at the same time?" Ryan asks.

"Yes," Gabriel replies. "And that's when it hurts the most."

* * *

"So, Dad, do you know when Ryan will be able to come home?" Seth asks as he drowns his pancakes in maple syrup.

"Dr. Morrison hasn't said yet, but since the infection is under control, I'm hoping by the end of the week," Sandy replies, relishing his cup of fresh coffee and cheesy omelet with hash browns.

"But tomorrow..." Kirsten sighs. "It's a special day."

"I know, sweetheart," Sandy says as he places his hand on Kirsten's forearm. "And we'll make it special... don't worry."

"I just want him to know..." Kirsten suddenly finds herself overcome with emotion.

"He knows, sweetheart," Sandy whispers quietly, leaning into his wife. "We just need to be patient. Everything is going to work out."

"I hope so, Sandy," Kirsten says, her voice etched with melancholy. "I want him home... safe and sound."

* * *

"So... there's a chance... I guess..." Ryan says, trying to string together the words. "My father... he might not be my..."

Gabriel listens as the boy's voice trails off, realizing Sandy must have told him about Frank.

"I hear him... his voice... in my head," Ryan continues, his own voice soft; his words breaking up. "Sometimes I c... can't get his voice out of my head..."

"Ryan, for the past six months, we've just been doing cognitive therapy. I would like to put you on an antidepressant..."

"No," Ryan interrupts. "I already take something to help me sleep."

"I understand, but switching you to an antidepressant would help more. Something like _Zoloft_ or _Paxil_."

"But, I'm not depressed," Ryan argues.

"Hello? Is it alright if I come in?" Anne asks as she peeks her head inside the room.

"Of course, as long as it's alright with Ryan," Gabriel replies.

Ryan sits up straight and adjusts the blanket over him, happy to see the doctor.

"Ryan and I have been discussing various treatment options," Gabriel tells Anne, hoping the woman will have more luck getting the boy to try medication. "He's hesitant to try an antidepressant."

"Ryan, because of everything that has happened, you've been dealing with extreme anxiety and panic attacks," Anne says, deciding to sit down on the bed next to the boy instead of standing over him. "Antidepressants help alleviate anxiety. They also improve sleep and concentration. Combine that with the psychotherapy you're receiving from Dr. Evans, you can learn to control your anxiety. Learn what triggers your panic attacks, whether it be a noise, a smell, or something a person says. This treatment will help you gain a sense of control over your life."

Ryan stares down at the blanket and runs his hand over the softness; smoothing out the wrinkles.

"And you won't be battling this alone," Gabriel adds, appreciating Anne's ability to connect with the boy. "Dr. Morrison and I will monitor your medications very closely..."

"And I know the Cohen's will do everything in their power to help you through this," Anne adds.

Ryan continues to stare down at his lap as he listens to both doctors. He trusts them...

 _They want to help..._

Ryan thinks about his chronic nightmares, the constant anxiety plaguing him... and the panic attacks.

 _Those are the worst,_ Ryan thinks to himself as he remembers what happened, just last week, at school.

 _Ryan takes his seat in class. It's only third period, History, but he's determined to get through the day. Suddenly, someone moves their desk. The student slowly drags the desk; the metal tips on the bottom of the desk legs screeching against the floor, piercing his ears... making his skin crawl. The student behind him drops his heavy book bag down onto his desk, making Ryan jump. Then a car backfires outside in the parking lot. With his heart now beating rapidly, he wipes the perspiration from his brow. Nausea then quickly starts to creep in, engulfing him. Keeping his head down, Ryan quickly makes his way up to the teacher. He quietly asks to be excused. He needs to use the restroom... again. Ryan steps out into the hallway and begins walking; his legs shaking beneath him. He feels the walls start to close in, suffocating him; the hallway narrowing, becoming longer and longer... Suddenly, a student slams his locker door shut. Ryan lowers his head and starts to walk faster as he listens to the student laugh... a low, guttural laugh. Finally, he reaches the bathroom. Ryan pushes the door open and runs into a stall. He quickly drops to his knees and purges his stomach of anything that has remained from breakfast. Perspiration drips profusely from his face as his body shakes relentlessly. When his stomach is finally empty, he gingerly stands up on wobbly legs and makes his way to the sink. Leaning against the basin for balance, Ryan splashes cold water onto his face and drinks some fluid from his cupped hands to rinse out his mouth. He doesn't dare glance at his reflection in the mirror for fear of who he might see. With his heart rate returning back to normal and his nausea subsiding, Ryan makes his way back to the classroom. He sits down at his desk and opens his history book, pretending that nothing happened... determined to get through the day._

"Okay, I'll try medication," Ryan says quietly.

Anne and Gabriel both look at one another and, in unison, let out a sigh of relief.

"We'll help you through this, Ryan," Anne assures as she threads her fingers through the boy's hair. "You're not alone. There are so many people who want to help you; people who care about you..."

Hearing her voice, Ryan looks up at Anne and recalls the words she spoke to him...

 _"If I had a son, I'd want him to be exactly like you."_

Ryan closes his eyes and begins to relax as he concentrates on Anne's warm, gentle touch, feeling her fingers combing through his hair; the soothing sensation enveloping his head... all his pain seemingly evaporating into thin air.

As he starts to drift off, Ryan continues to hear the woman's soothing voice... speaking to him... assuring him... lulling him to sleep...

 _I wish my Mom..._ Ryan thinks to himself as he slowly gives into slumber. _I wish my Mom was exactly like you._

 **Individual Replies:**

 **Guest** **(who said Super Bowl came on a Saturday):** Thank you for your review. I appreciate the insight and discovering how readers interpret what I've written. I'm always learning something new and trying to become a better writer. I know I lack being descriptive when it comes to the surroundings, what characters look like, etc. If I write another story, that's something I really want to improve. :-)

In regards to Kirsten, I never meant for her to come off as being sarcastic. Quite the opposite. It's been an enormous challenge for the Cohen's to try to decipher Ryan's thoughts. For Ryan to start talking, it means he's becoming more comfortable opening up to them and they've gained his trust.

Also, in regards to Dr. Evans' sessions with Ryan: His first session was waaaaaay back in the beginning of "A Deal With the Devil" which was late August in that story. Ryan sees Dr. Evans at least once a week and since it's now March in this story, that's a lot of sessions. I've only written a handful of these sessions. Any more, in my opinion, would have become repetitive.

 **Reading** **:** I know you, as well as others, enjoy Ryan/Sandy time, and Sandy does have a big mouth. :-) But I wrote that entire segment last chapter as a turning point for Ryan and if Sandy had kept silent, there wouldn't have been much point to Ryan sharing his memory and how he feels. When I write, I try to evolve not only the story, but also the characters. I appreciate your input very much and I hope you'll stick with this story until the end.

 **VinniPuhh** **:** Thank you and I'm glad I succeeded in breaking your heart with Ryan's past. In regards to Ryan's bio-dad, I've decided not to investigate that angle. Ryan views Sandy as his father now which has been my goal all along. Ryan has told Sandy he doesn't want him to find his biological father and I will always stay true to Ryan. :-)

 **Guest:** I'm very happy my story was able to make and save your day. I hope you were successful at closing out the "crazy" world, at least for a few minutes anyway. ;-) In regards to Ryan's condition, yes he did hit an emotional brick wall a few chapters ago, but because he's surrounded by people who love and care about him, he's emerging out of his protective shell and accepting their help. He tested the waters, so to speak, by divulging a traumatic memory to Sandy. He realizes now that he can talk freely; he can share his feelings, and there won't be cruel repercussions.


	26. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **Seth wasn't my favorite character but I always liked him and Ryan together. They were complete opposites and had a unique dynamic. In this chapter, Seth continues to mature, something that took him forever to do on the show.**

 **Also, I'm bringing up a few things in this chapter that were covered way back in chapter one of this story. Things that Ryan discussed with Dr. Evans during his therapy session. I'm bringing this up in case readers have forgotten about some of the smaller details. It's easy to do when a story is this long. ;-)  
**

 **A quick note to** **matthewsbj** **: Kirsten and Ryan will definitely have their moment but it won't be until the next chapter. I needed to address a few things first in this chapter. Thanks for being so patient. :-)**

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story and giving me your feedback. I appreciate it! :-)**

Chapter Twenty-five

Sandy, Kirsten and Seth step out of the elevator and onto the second floor.

"New area... new faces," Seth states, observing his surroundings. "Although, not all new."

Seth makes a beeline over to Judy as she makes her way out of Ryan's room.

"Hi, you might not remember me... I'm Seth," Seth says with a big smile as he introduces himself to the pretty nurse.

"Ah, yes... Seth. Of course, I remember you," Judy replies with an obligatory smile. "How could I forget?"

 _You're the boy who never stops talking..._

"You do? Really?" Seth says, trying not to act surprised, but failing miserably. "You remember me?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Cohen... welcome back," Anne states with a beaming smile as she and Dr. Evans make their way over to Sandy and Kirsten. "I hope you had a nice meal and were able to get some rest."

"Yes, we did," Sandy and Kirsten reply in unison.

"We stayed away as long as we could," Seth adds, looking at his watch and noting it's close to three in the afternoon.

"How's Ryan doing?" Kirsten asks. "Can we see him?"

"I'm afraid Ryan is sleeping right now," Anne replies. "But you certainly can see him."

"Actually, Mrs. Cohen, may I speak with you for a moment?" Gabriel asks Kirsten. "Before you see Ryan."

"Of course," Kirsten replies, following the psychologist down the hall to a more private area to talk.

"Dr. Morrison... Mr. Cohen! Just the two people we've been looking for," Jack announces as he and his partner, Kathryn Strauss, approach Anne and Sandy.

"I'm just going to pay a little visit to Ryan," Seth says, carefully stepping away from the adults. "I have his stuff I want to give him."

"That's fine, Seth," Anne states, letting the boy know he's allowed to visit now. "Just don't wake him. He's exhausted from the move and therapy. He needs rest."

"You needn't worry," Seth assures. "I'm as stealthy as they get."

Seth quietly steps inside Ryan's room and tiptoes over to a chair next to the bed. He sets the overnight bag down on the floor and sits down, folding his hands neatly upon his lap. Seth begins to fidget as he glances nervously around the room, taking in his surroundings; the IV bag, an array of tangled up tubing, the constant beeping from the monitor. He then focuses his attention on Ryan... his friend...

 _My soon-to-be brother..._

Seth feels tears begin to well up in his eyes as he looks his friend over, noting the bruising on his face and around his neck; the bandage around his right hand, worn and frayed as if it's been repeatedly rubbed or pulled on; his wrists red and chafed from being bound with thick, rough cords.

"God, this is all my fault," Seth whispers softly, wiping away an errant tear. "If only I went out with you Friday night, this would've never happened... I'm so stupid... Why did I lie..."

 _I just hope you'll be able to forgive me..._

* * *

"What did you need to talk to me about?" Kirsten asks as she finds a secluded corner in the hallway to talk privately with Dr. Evans.

"I would like to know how you're doing... how you're holding up," Gabriel replies.

"I'm doing as well as can be expected," Kirsten answers, appreciating the psychologist's concern.

"The reason I ask is... well, I know your father's trial is starting this week," Gabriel says, hoping he's approaching the subject delicately. "During my session with Ryan last Thursday, he mentioned it and he is worried about you."

"Oh my, with everything that has happened... well, Ryan doesn't know."

"Doesn't know what?" Gabriel inquires.

"There isn't going to be a trial," Kirsten explains. "My father... he's going to prison. He admitted paying Frank to take Ryan away from us."

"Oh, Mrs. Cohen, I am so sorry," Gabriel says earnestly. "I didn't know..."

"It's alright... it's over and I'm through... through with him," Kirsten says, not even trying to mask the bitterness in her voice. She immediately sweeps the image of her father from her mind and looks at Dr. Evans. "Ryan... he really said he was worried about me?"

"Yes, he did," Gabriel replies.

Kirsten smiles warmly and feels touched at the notion that Ryan was concerned for her.

"Ryan is making great strides with therapy, but he still has a long way to go," Gabriel continues. "If he asks about your father when you do see him, be open and honest with him. It's the only way to help him cope with everything that has happened."

"But I don't want to upset him..."

"I know you don't. None of us do," Gabriel acknowledges. "For most of his life, Ryan has been surrounded by toxic people. He's had to fend for himself. The boy is a survivor."

Kirsten listens intently as she and Dr. Evans begin walking back towards Ryan's room.

"Now, he's surrounded by people who love and care about him," Gabriel continues. "Ryan knows this and he's accepting our help. Finally, he's learned he can place his trust in others and he won't be let down."

Gabriel stops and takes Kirsten's hands into his. He waits a moment as she makes eye contact with him, then squeezes her hands gently.

"Ryan doesn't just need me and Dr. Morrison. And he doesn't need just your husband and your son," Gabriel states intently. "Ryan also needs you, Mrs. Cohen."

 _Ryan needs me..._

"And I need him," Kirsten says with a heartfelt smile as she blinks away an errant tear. "Thank you, Dr. Evans."

* * *

Ryan hears a light tapping sound, out of sync with the sounds from the monitor. Keeping his eyes closed, he struggles to pinpoint the source.

 _Am I dreaming?_ Ryan thinks to himself as he hovers on the threshold of consciousness, not quite sure if he's still sleeping or on the verge of waking up.

Ryan slowly opens his eyes and blinks a few times, waiting for them to adjust to the daylight. He then turns his head towards the source of the tapping and sees Seth sitting in the chair, his leg bouncing rapidly up and down in a state of nervous, frenetic energy.

"Seth?"

"Hey, Ryan... you're awake," Seth says as he stops bouncing his leg and sits up straight in the chair, happy to hear his friend's voice.

"What time is it?" Ryan asks, wondering how long he's been asleep as he rubs his eye with his fist. The last thing he remembers is being with Dr. Evans and Dr. Morrison.

"It's around three thirty," Seth replies as he opens up the overnight bag he packed for Ryan. "I brought you some things from home."

Ryan watches as Seth removes the items from the bag; a cd player and headphones, the book he started reading last week and some of his music.

"Dr. Morrison also wanted me to bring you some clothes," Seth says as he takes some underwear and sleep pants out of the bag and folds them neatly on the side table. "You'll be much more comfortable in your own clothes."

Ryan looks at his friend and smiles, appreciating the thoughtfulness. Suddenly, his smile fades and his brow slightly furrows with confusion.

"I thought you were sick."

"I am... I was..." Seth begins bouncing his leg up and down again as he musters up the courage to confess. "I'm not."

"You're not sick anymore?" Ryan asks. "That's great. Must have been just a twenty-four hour bug."

Seth jumps up out of the chair and begins pacing around the room. He could just let his friend think he's miraculously recovered from a bad cold or...

"I was never really sick," Seth blurts out.

Ryan stares at his friend in confusion. "I don't understand. Why would you fake being sick? I thought you wanted to go out..."

"I did," Seth interrupts as he abruptly stops pacing around the room and sits back down in the chair. "I still do."

Ryan continues to look at Seth, willing him to continue with his explanation.

"See, this is what happened. You were in the shower and Trey called. I told him you would call him back but he actually wanted to talk to me."

Seth hops back up and begins pacing around the room again as his nervous energy demands its release.

"Trey said he was hooking you up with someone. Mindy... Candie... I forget. Anyways, he was going to be with his girlfriend and you were going to be with Miss Hookup and I was..."

"Going to be the fifth wheel," Ryan says, finishing his friend's sentence.

"Yeah, didn't sound like a whole lot of fun," Seth admits, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I'm sorry, Ryan. I should've never lied."

"You're right, you shouldn't have lied," Ryan says in agreement. "Besides, I've never needed Trey's help hooking me up with someone."

"You know, I should've known that... I'm so stupid."

"You're not stupid."

"I guess Trey just didn't want me to come along," Seth says as he sits back down, feeling somewhat dejected, but at the same time feeling much better getting everything off his chest. "But if it's any consolation, the parents have grounded me until the end of the year. Possibly longer."

"You just need to stop lying, Seth," Ryan says. "It never solves anything..."

 _It usually just makes things worse,_ Ryan thinks to himself, knowing now what his mother has kept from him all these years.

"But, sometimes it's good to lie," Seth says. "Don't you think?"

"No."

"All right, hypothetical situation here. Let's say... and this will probably never happen but, let's just say I'm going on a date with Summer," Seth says sitting up in his chair, ready to lay out his improbable scenario. "I pick her up at her place and she asks me if her pants make her look fat. Well, they're not the greatest pants. In fact, they fit her gorgeous figure all wrong." Seth holds his hands up in front of him and outlines his true love's perfection in the air. "What am I supposed to say?"

 _"Uh, yeah... those pants do make you look a little chubby."_

"Just be honest," Ryan reiterates. "Tell her you think she looks beautiful."

Seth drops his hands down on his lap and ponders his friend's advice.

"You wouldn't be lying, Seth. Plus, it's probably what she needs to hear."

"You're right! You are so right!" Seth proclaims as a huge smile emerges upon his face. "Summer is beautiful! Why, she'd be beautiful dressed in a brown paper bag!"

Ryan smiles and finds himself relaxing. He's missed this. His conversations with his friend. It's a good diversion... to have something else to think about. Anything to take his mind off of everything that has happened."

"Do you forgive me?" Seth asks. "Because I'll understand if you don't..."

"Seth, there's nothing to forgive. My brother manipulated you..."

"Please, Ryan... I just need to know you're not mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you, Seth," Ryan says as he tries to stifle a yawn.

"You need to go back to sleep," Seth says, watching his groggy friend try to stay awake.

"The nurse gave me some more pain meds because my leg was bothering me," Ryan says, yawning again. "They make me so drowsy..."

"The nurse, as in Judy?" Seth asks with a mischievous grin. "You lucky dog... well, not so lucky because you're here and what happened to you and all, but lucky because you get the nicest nurses... Faith, Hope and now Judy... I wonder if Melanie still works in the ER. She was also really nice. Maybe if things don't go as I have meticulously planned out for me and Summer I could ask Mel..." Seth stops rambling when he glances over at his friend. "You fell asleep."

Seth quietly stands up and tiptoes to the door, then turns and looks at Ryan.

"You need your sleep," Seth whispers. "The sooner you get better, the sooner you can come home."

* * *

"So detectives, what brings you here?" Sandy asks, slightly concerned with the impromptu visit. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Jack replies. "How's the lad doing?"

"Ryan is doing much better today," Anne says.

"Oh, that's good to hear," Jack says, relieved with the good news.

"Dr. Morrison, we need you to take a look at this picture," Kathryn says, opening a manila folder to reveal a mugshot of a young Latino man.

Anne's eyes widen as she takes a look at the picture. "That's him! That's the other man who was at Ramon's house."

"Are you sure?" Jack asks.

"Yes, I'm positive. That's the man... Alfonzo... Al something..."

"Alonzo," Kathryn states. "Alonzo Lopez. He has known ties to Ramon Cruz."

"He was arrested during a sting operation. A drug bust," Jack explains. "Now that he's off the streets, you should be safe now."

Anne let's out a sigh of relief. It never occurred to her that Alonzo may have come after her or possibly Ryan again. After all, they're witnesses.

"He's going to prison," Kathryn says. "And, you and Ryan will both be notified whenever he has the possibility of being paroled. You'll be given the opportunity to make a victim impact statement at that time."

"But that won't be for quite awhile," Jack adds.

Sandy finds his mind wander off as he imagines the prison scenario:

 _A loud buzzer rings as the steel prison doors slide open in unison. Caleb Nichol steps out, clad in the State of California, Department of Corrections orange jumpsuit. He runs his hands meticulously down the front of the jumpsuit, smoothing out any wrinkles. He has a plan. A plan on how he'll survive. Prisons have rules that cannot be broken. There are leaders and there are followers. He has never been a follower... ever. He will learn how the system works and use it to his advantage. He will become the leader and have many followers. He will be in charge. He will make the rules..._

 _"Well, well, well... who do we have here?"_

 _Caleb turns his head to the right and sees a familiar looking young man step out of the cell adjacent to his._

 _"You don't remember me, old man? I'm Trey. Trey Atwood. Ya know... Ryan's brother. And I know what you did. I know everything. That sorta thing won't sit well with folks around here. Hurtin' a kid. Not smart... not smart at all. You better watch your back, old man. Maybe I'll sucker punch you in the face again. Spend a few days in solitary... it'd be worth it..."_

 _"Ah, amigo... looks like we are going to be neighbors."_

 _Trey turns his head to the right and sees Alonzo with a mile-wide grin plastered across his face, looking at him like a predator looks at its prey._

 _"Esto es todo tu culpa... This is all your fault, amigo. If you had stole the car like Ramon asked, I wouldn't be in this hell hole. Turned out to be a sting operation... damn drugs in the trunk. The drug dealer was actually an undercover cop. Shit... just my luck. You rat out Ramon?"_

 _"Fuck you. Ramon's dead."_

 _"Si, I know. Folks around here, they don't like rats. Bad things happen to them. Very bad things. If I were you, I'd watch my back, amigo. You better watch your back..."_

"Sandy? What's so funny?" Kirsten asks, noticing a smile on her husband's face.

"Yeah, Dad. Why the huge grin? Care to let us in on the joke?"

"Oh, it's nothing... really. I was just having a pleasant daydream," Sandy answers, quickly wiping the grin off his face. "Seth, I forgot to ask. Did you happen to check the mailbox when you went home yesterday?"

"Yeah, nothing but Saturday junk mail," Seth replies.

"Nothing from Dawn?"

"Nope. Nada."

"How was Ryan?" Kirsten asks.

"He's really tired. Fell asleep again."

"The medication makes him very drowsy," Anne explains. "He mentioned earlier that he wants to try bathing. That will take quite some time and then he'll need to eat something..."

"And then he'll be exhausted, fall back to sleep again and visiting hours will be over," Kirsten says, realizing she'll have to wait until tomorrow to see him.

"Sweetheart, I'll stay here again tonight," Sandy says as he takes his wife's hands into his. "Seth has schoolwork to keep on top of and that paper to write."

"Don't remind me," Seth grumbles.

"And I need to still talk to Faith and Hope about tomorrow," Kirsten adds, ignoring her son's lament. "Plus, I have a lot of appointments with clients to reschedule."

"All right, let's plan on meeting back here tomorrow morning." Sandy wraps his arms around his wife and gently places a kiss on top of her head. "I don't want you to worry about anything. I love you."

"I love you, too," Kirsten replies, blinking away a couple of stray tears. "I won't worry as long as I know you're here with him."

"I won't leave him alone, sweetheart," Sandy reassures.

 _I'll take good care of him...  
_

* * *

"Hello?" Sandy peeks his head in the room and sees Ryan sitting up in bed watching television. "Ah, basketball... must be March."

"I think there's a game on every channel," Ryan says as he turns off the tv.

"You can watch the game," Sandy says, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. "I don't mind."

"Nah... I'm really not a big basketball fan. And, I tried watching the news, but it was too depressing."

"Looks like you were able to take a shower," Sandy says, observing the boy's damp hair.

"Yeah, I couldn't get my stitches wet, though. I never realized there are so many different sizes of waterproof patches."

Sandy glances at an empty soup bowl and plate on a tray next to the bed.

"I see you were able to eat some dinner."

"Have you eaten?" Ryan asks. "I'm sure the nurse could get you something."

"I grabbed a bite down in the cafeteria," Sandy replies. "I had some work to take care of... lots of phone calls to make. I wanted to make sure my cases were reassigned and being handled this week."

Ryan lowers his head and looks down at his lap. He hates that everyone has had their lives turned upside down... all because of him.

 _It's not your fault, Ryan. None of this is your fault..._

"Ryan?..."

"I know, it's not my fault."

Sandy smiles, happy the boy is at least trying not to feel so guilty over everything that has happened. If he had to make a list of people to blame, he's certain the name "Ryan" would not be on it.

"How was your visit with Seth?"

"Good," Ryan replies. "Though, he did admit he was never really sick. He said he's been grounded for an eternity for lying."

"Well, maybe not an eternity. But close."

"Trey manipulated him," Ryan explains, hoping maybe he can help his friend out.

"Yes, he did. But Seth has been getting into a habit of lying," Sandy says, knowing Ryan's looking out for Seth. After all, that's what brothers are supposed to do. "I also understand that teenagers do, on occasion, lie. But it's still unacceptable behavior and he needs to take responsibility."

Ryan glances back down at his lap and finds himself wanting to smile. If only Seth knew how lucky he is, having two parents who love him; parents who care about what he does, where he goes, how he acts. Ryan thinks of all the times he would stay out all night. Nobody looked for him. Nobody wondered where he was, who he was with or what he was doing.

 _Nobody cared..._

"Ryan, I know we talked about going to Atlanta to visit your Mom and Uncle Lenny over Spring break, but that's just two weeks away," Sandy says. "I know there's no way Dr. Morrison will allow you to travel that far so soon."

Ryan lets out a soft sigh, recalling how, just last week, he was so excited to visit his mother.

"But, that doesn't mean we still can't visit them. We could arrange a trip in the summer..."

"No."

"No?" Sandy questions.

Ryan glances back up at Sandy and sighs again. "I don't want to see my mom... at least, not right now."

Sandy places his hand over Ryan's hand and squeezes gently. "I understand, Ryan. And it's perfectly understandable if you don't want to visit your mom. She doesn't know what has happened to you. And, she doesn't know that Trey confessed her secret. But if she does find out, I will handle it. Okay? You needn't worry about anything."

Ryan slowly begins to relax, just knowing he won't need to deal with his mother or, if he does, he won't have to do it alone.

"But, it doesn't mean we still can't go somewhere this summer," Sandy says. "Is there any place you'd like to visit? Maybe the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone or Washington D.C. We could check out Chicago. Take in the museums and try out their deep dish pizza..."

"Chattanooga."

"Chatta... Chattanooga?" Sandy inquires, slightly perplexed. "As in Chattanooga, Tennessee?"

"Yeah, I'd really like to visit Chattanooga."

Sandy sits in silence for a moment, somewhat taken aback by Ryan's vacation choice. But he knows Ryan doesn't just say things on a whim. Chattanooga must mean something to the boy. And if it means something to Ryan, then it means something to him.

"I've read that Chattanooga is a beautiful city... located on the Tennessee River and surrounded by mountains... lush, green mountains."

"You read that?"

"I was traveling on business and read about the city from the in-flight, airline magazine," Sandy explains. "There are a lot of things to see and do. There's Rock City, Ruby Falls and the Incline Railway. Oh, and there's also Lookout Mountain."

"Look... Lookout Mountain?"

"Yeah, and that's not all," Sandy says, getting somewhat excited at the prospect of visiting the city. "Get this. You can go ziplining down the..."

Sandy immediately stops talking when he notices a look of terror emerge upon Ryan's face.

"Ryan, are you..." Sandy pauses a moment, then continues with his question. "Are you afraid of heights?"

Ryan casts his eyes downward, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

"Hey, it's alright," Sandy says, not wanting the boy to feel self-conscious. "You know, we're all afraid of something."

Ryan glances up at Sandy with wary eyes, hoping the man will elaborate.

"Take Kirsten and Seth, for example," Sandy says. "They're both deathly afraid of spiders... I think Seth more than Kirsten."

Ryan smiles, recalling all the times he's had to come to their rescue. "Definitely Seth is more afraid of spiders, although Kirsten has a louder scream."

"And me? Oh, my Lord! You saw me over the holidays. Hanukkah? The nana's visit?" Sandy says, not proud of the person he becomes when his mother visits. "I turn into a pathetic, neurotic bundle of nerves whenever my mother comes into town."

"The nana is great," Ryan says, remembering how much he enjoyed her visit.

"Yes, she is. And, she thinks you're pretty great, too," Sandy acknowledges, recalling how his mother wanted to take Ryan home with her in the off chance he and Kirsten didn't want him around anymore.

"I'd be willing to see Lookout Mountain, but maybe we could skip the ziplining?"

"Deal," Sandy says with a smile. "And, I know that Chattanooga is only about a two hour drive from Atlanta. If you decide you would like to see your Uncle Lenny, I'll arrange it. We can meet him somewhere for lunch."

"That would be great," Ryan says. He would love to see his uncle, just not his mother.

"Then, it's set. We'll go to Chattanooga in the summer."

 _"Pardon me boy, is that the Chattanooga Choo Choo..."_

"There's a song?" Ryan asks as Sandy croons out a tune.

"Oh yes, a great jazz song by Glenn Miller. But it's way before your time," Sandy replies. "In fact, it's a bit before my time too."

"Can you sing it for me?"

"I'm not sure of all the lyrics, but I could hum it," Sandy says, thrilled Ryan wants him to sing. Sandy always wants to sing but finds it difficult when Seth cries foul and protests, claiming severe emotional distress.

 _"Hmm... hmm... hmm..."_

Ryan sinks the back of his head into the pillows and closes his eyes. He feels his entire body begin to relax as he listens to the smooth baritone voice humming softly...

 _"Hmm... hmm... hmm..."_

Lulling him to sleep...

"Sweet dreams, Ryan," Sandy whispers as he gently brushes a damp strand of hair off the boy's forehead. "Tomorrow is a brand new day."


	27. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

 **A/N:** This story is AU and takes place six months after "A Deal With the Devil" ended.

My goal is to tie this story with "To Be Seventeen" and "A Deal With the Devil" and bring everything to a "hopefully" satisfying conclusion. :-)

 **I'm a little bummed at how many readers didn't remember that Dr. Morrison is from Chattanooga. When Anne and Ryan were being held captive in Ramon's basement, they had a conversation where they told a secret about themselves. Anne told Ryan her first name is Charity and that she's from Chattanooga, Tennessee. She described how the city is surrounded by mountains and Ryan revealed to her that he's afraid of heights. Sorry for the confusion. Hope it makes more sense now. I thought it would be sweet if Ryan wanted to go visit Anne's hometown. :-)**

 **Whenever I start to write a story, I have it outlined from beginning to end. I've been writing this trilogy for four years now. That's a long time. I cannot think of anything else I could write that wouldn't become repetitive. In my story, Ryan has evolved. He now trusts the Cohen's, feels safe with them and accepts his new family. Of course, Ryan is not 100%. I don't think he ever will be 100% with all I've put him through. But my goal was to link this story back up to the beginning of "To Be Seventeen" (specifically, a conversation that occurred in chapter 3 of that story between Ryan and the Cohens) and get Ryan on the road to recovery with a family who loves and cares about him.**

 **Just a quick reminder for those who may have forgotten or for those readers who never read "To Be Seventeen", Kirsten and Ryan were very close in that story. She was very maternal towards him and only drifted apart due to her father's betrayal in "A Deal With the Devil". Ryan has never faulted Kirsten for what Caleb did, but has repeatedly been concerned for her. Tragedy and heartache can bring people closer together.**

 **I'm very proud of my story and I hope you enjoy the ending. :-)**

Chapter Twenty-six

Springtime. A time of renewal. The days are longer. The air is warmer. The welcome rain makes everything greener. Ryan sits in bed and looks out the window. He watches a bird perched on the windowsill with dried leaves and grass tucked in its beak.

"Making a nest, Mrs. Robin?" Ryan asks the fidgety bird. "I'm sure you'll be a great mom."

"Hello?"

Ryan turns his head away from the robin and sees Dr. Morrison standing in the doorway, clad in her white lab coat with her long hair neatly tied back in a ponytail.

"How are you doing today?" Anne asks, putting on her glasses as she walks to Ryan's bedside.

"Pretty good."

"Pain level?"

"Um... a two."

"Just a two?"

"Two and a half?"

Anne smiles at her young patient. Knowing he's never one to complain, she decides to round up his assessment to a three.

"Let me take a look at you." Anne carefully pulls Ryan's hospital gown up to his rib cage and his sleep pants down below his hip. She gently presses the tips of her fingers into the side of his waist, methodically moving them around his belly using a circular motion.

"Any pain?"

"Not much... just a little uncomfortable," Ryan replies, not really enjoying being poked and prodded, but grateful the doctor has warm hands.

"I mean any sharp, stabbing pain..."

Anne cringes at her choice of the word "stabbing" and looks at Ryan. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Ryan reassures with a small smile. "No sharp pain."

"Excellent," Anne states as she covers her patient back up. "That's music to my ears."

Ryan sighs with contentment remembering last night, how he fell asleep listening to Sandy's charming little melody.

"Where's Sandy?" Anne asks, knowing the man stayed at the hospital overnight again.

"He went to the bathroom to freshen up," Ryan replies, watching as the doctor unwraps the gauze from around his injured hand.

"You should be able to get the stitches out next week, but for right now, I'd like you to make a fist. It doesn't have to be tight," Anne says, gently holding Ryan's right arm so his hand is upright. "I just want to see if you can bend your fingers."

Ryan does as he's told and makes a fist, relieved it isn't painful.

"When we took an x-ray of your hand, there wasn't any damage to the ligaments. But, I'm still going to send you to a hand specialist after your stitches are removed. You'll be given exercises to get your dexterity and strength back," Anne continues. "Now, I'd like you to uncurl one finger at a time starting with your thumb. Just move your thumb out and then back in again."

Ryan again does as he's told, happy he can easily move his thumb.

"Now your index finger..."

"Hello... may we come in?" Sandy asks. "I bumped into Kirsten and Seth out in the hall..."

"Ryan, are you trying to give Dr. Morrison the finger?"

"Seth!" Kirsten scolds, glaring at her son in disapproval.

Anne laughs. "Ryan's only doing as I've asked."

Seth furrows his brow in confusion, then scurries past his parents to stand by Ryan's bedside.

"How's his hand?" Sandy asks.

"Doing quite well," Anne replies as she wraps Ryan's hand with fresh gauze. "Another week and the stitches can be removed."

Kirsten finds herself staring at Ryan, unable to take her eyes off the boy. He seems better, at least physically. Although, it will take awhile for the bruises to fade, she knows it's the emotional scars underneath that will take much longer to heal.

 _If they ever will completely heal..._

"When will he be able to come home?" Seth asks.

"Well, that's what I want to talk to all of you about," Anne says as she tucks in the end of the gauze, making sure it's secure. "The antibiotic has worked on the staph infection, but with this strain, Ryan needs the antibiotic administered through an IV."

"Is that something we can do at home?" Sandy asks, hopeful the boy won't have to spend the entire week in the hospital just because he can't take an oral antibiotic.

"Most definitely," Anne replies. "But I need your assurance that one of you will be home with him at all times. You'll all be trained and given instructions on how to administer the medicine..."

Ryan begins to open his mouth to speak...

"And no, this is not something you can do all by yourself," Anne states emphatically, looking directly at Ryan. She knows the boy. He'd try do everything himself... if he could.

"A home healthcare nurse will visit once a day to make sure the IV is working well and there are no signs of infection," Anne continues. "You'll also be given a special container to dispose of the sharps..."

"Sharps?" Seth inquires.

"Needles," Anne replies. "All the other disposable supplies like IV tubing, bags and gloves can be placed in a plastic bag and discarded in the trash."

"I work from home now so I can stay with him," Kirsten says.

"Do you feel you'll be able to administer his antibiotics?" Anne asks, knowing the woman's heart is in the right place, but not sure if she understands everything it entails.

"My mother..." Kirsten takes in a deep breath and clears her throat, recalling her mother's battle with ovarian cancer. "Shortly after Seth was born, she passed away... cancer."

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Cohen," Anne says earnestly, never intending to dredge up painful memories. "I didn't know."

"It's alright," Kirsten assures with a heartfelt smile. "My point is, I spent many, many hours with my mother during her final days. I watched the nurses administer her morphine and other medications. I'm very confident I'll be able to learn to do it for Ryan."

Kirsten suddenly feels a fleeting pang of guilt as she silently wishes things were different.

 _Why couldn't my father have died of cancer and my beautiful mother... why couldn't she have lived. She would have adored Ryan. She would have loved him._

"Well then, in that case, Ryan should be able to go home by Wednesday afternoon," Anne states with confidence. She has no worries of Ryan's care being neglected at home... not with this family.

"If you need anything, Ryan, just ask the nurse," Anne says as she begins to take her leave. "I'll check on you later, alright?"

"Okay," Ryan answers, feeling better knowing he'll be going home soon.

"Seth, why don't you come with me," Sandy says. "Let your mother and Ryan have some time alone."

"But, I just got here," Seth protests.

"And you will be back," Sandy states sternly, placing his arm around his son's shoulders to escort him out of the room.

Sandy leans into Seth and whispers in his ear, "We need to talk to Faith, Hope and Judy, remember? Make sure everything is all set."

"Copy that, Dad," Seth whispers back, following his father out of the room. "Let's not keep the good nurses waiting."

Kirsten walks over to Ryan and sits down on the bed next to him. "That's good news... that you can come home Wednesday."

"Are you sure you'll be able to give me the antibiotics?" Ryan asks. "I mean... I don't want to be a..."

"I'm positive," Kirsten interrupts, knowing the boy worries he's being a bother. "It's not an inconvenience and I feel quite confident I'll be able learn how to give you the antibiotics. Plus, I've already rescheduled all my meetings for this week and your last dosage is Sunday."

"Still, you have to work..."

"I'm my own boss now," Kirsten says with a reassuring smile. "I'm on vacation this week. And, I can't think of anyone I'd rather spend my time with."

"But..."

"But, what?" Kirsten asks with concern.

Ryan glances down at his lap. He unconsciously begins running his fingers over the fresh, clean gauze covering his right hand, tugging at any loose ends he encounters.

"Ryan? Talk to me," Kirsten says softly. "It's alright... you can tell me anything."

"It's just that..."

Kirsten takes Ryan's left hand and caresses it gently, willing the boy to continue.

"Caleb's trial... I know it's starting this week," Ryan says, his voice slightly shaking. "I don't want to keep you from going to the courthouse... if that's where you want... need to be."

"Ryan, with everything that has happened the last few days, I haven't had the chance to tell you."

"Tell me what?" Ryan inquires, looking up at Kirsten.

"There isn't going to be a trial," Kirsten says, remembering Dr. Evans advice to be open and honest. "My father is going to prison. He admitted..." Kirsten hesitates a moment and swallows the lump forming in her throat. She struggles to maintain her composure. She needs to stay strong... for Ryan. "He admitted he payed Frank to take you away from us."

Ryan glances back down at his lap. He was holding out hope for the possibility that Caleb was innocent. At least if there was a trial, there was a chance for an acquittal.

"I tried... I remember telling him... pleading with him to get to know you. If he only got to know you better, he would have realized how wrong he was about you. But he wouldn't. I don't know... maybe he just couldn't."

"I'm so sorry," Ryan says softly, hearing the sadness so deeply entrenched in Kirsten's voice.

"I'm the one who's sorry, Ryan," Kirsten says, gently squeezing the boy's hand. "You've done nothing... absolutely nothing wrong. My father will spend many years, possibly the rest of his life, in prison. He will miss out on Seth's milestones. He'll miss holidays with his family. He'll sit in his cell wallowing in his shallow spitefulness and hate..."

Kirsten carefully places her hand under Ryan's chin and lifts his head so she's able to make eye contact with the solemn boy.

"My father will miss getting to know one of the most kind, intelligent and thoughtful young man I have ever met." Kirsten smiles as she gently brushes Ryan's bangs off his forehead. "It's his loss, but it's my gain. It's our family's gain."

Ryan feels tears well up in his eyes as he returns Kirsten's smile and drinks in her comforting words. Is this what it feels like to belong? To feel wanted?

 _I'm wanted..._

"But, enough about my father," Kirsten says, wanting desperately to change the subject. "Today, young man, is a very special day."

"It's not that special..."

"Yes it is, Ryan. Today is your birthday!"

Ryan smiles and acknowledges that it is indeed his birthday. But, he hasn't celebrated his birthday in years. He was six years old when his mother gave him his last birthday party. He recalls she had a huge fight over the phone with Frank when she found out he wasn't coming home to help with the party, but instead was going "out with the boys". It ended with her getting drunk and passing out, and the kids going wild without supervision and trashing the house. Dawn blamed Ryan and took all of his presents and threw them in the garbage. He remembers getting up in the middle of the night and sneaking out into the garage to sift through the debris, hoping to salvage something.

Ryan tries to shake off the memory as he recalls peeling sticky strands of cold, slimy spaghetti off a toy truck and painstakingly wiping tomato sauce off his new "Transformers" coloring book.

"I just wish you didn't have to spend your birthday in the hospital."

"It's okay," Ryan says, not wanting Kirsten to worry. "I've spent my birthday in worse places."

Kirsten sighs and wonders how many birthdays were a disaster for the boy or just ended up being forgotten.

"Ryan, do you remember when you first came to live with us? We were all in the kitchen talking about which school you were going to attend," Kirsten says, recalling how the boy sat quietly at the breakfast bar with his head lowered, picking toast crumbs off the counter to busy himself. She thought he was coming down with something... a cold or the flu. But, of course, he downplayed it.

 _You didn't want to be a bother..._

"Yeah, I wanted to go to the public school but you and Sandy wanted me to go to Harbor."

"You told us you had always wanted to be an architect," Kirsten says, recalling their conversation.

"Yeah, I remember..."

"When you weren't sure you wanted to be an architect anymore, I asked you what you wanted to be," Kirsten continues, again taking the boy's hand and caressing it gently. "Do you remember what you told me?"

Ryan looks into Kirsten's eyes and smiles warmly. "I told you I wanted to be seventeen."

"Well, you made it," Kirsten says, returning the boy's smile. "You're seventeen."

Ryan looks back down at his lap, feeling strangely content and relaxed.

 _I'm seventeen..._

"So tell me, Ryan, what do you want to be now?"

Ryan bites his lower lip as he ponders the question, then glances back up at Kirsten and replies, "Eighteen?"

Kirsten raises her eyebrows, becoming slightly confused and asks, "Why eighteen?"

"Because then I'll be old enough to ask Judy out."

Kirsten smiles as she thinks about the young nurse. She guesses the girl is in her early to mid-twenties. She's not only pretty, but she's intelligent, ambitious and compassionate. And, most important of all, she doesn't appear to be a "drama queen" like a certain neighbor girl Kirsten knows.

"I like Judy," Kirsten says. "But, you're right. You definitely need to wait until you're eighteen."

"Yes, ma'am," Ryan says, pretending to be serious as he salutes the woman in charge.

Kirsten chuckles softly at Ryan's attempt at being funny. She then leans in and wraps her arms around the boy, needing to hug him but also needing a hug herself.

"Just promise me you won't grow up too fast," Kirsten whispers as she feels the boy return her hug.

"I promise," Ryan says, smiling with contentment.

"Knock, knock!"

Ryan looks at the doorway and sees Faith walking in with a birthday cake, followed by Hope, Judy, Dr. Morrison, Dr. Evans, Sandy and Seth. He's rendered speechless as they all gather around his bed singing "Happy Birthday"; each person choosing their own key to sing in, creating a seven-part, earsplitting dissonance like none he's ever heard before.

Kirsten places her hands over her ears, wincing and laughing as Faith sets the small sheet cake down on the side tray in front of Ryan.

Ryan sits quietly and patiently as he listens to the ragtag choir finish their song.

"Ryan, we use an LED tealight in place of a birthday candle because we can't have an open flame in the room," Anne says. "After you make your wish, just pick up the candle and there's a switch on the bottom to turn it off."

"Why can't we have an open flame?" Seth asks.

"Seth, haven't you been paying attention in Chemistry class?" Ryan asks.

"How can I pay attention with Summer sitting a mere five rows away from me. Five rows, Ryan. Five. That's so close. It's the closest I'll probably ever get."

Ryan smiles and shakes his head. "Well, so you don't go blowing anything or anyone up, compressed oxygen and fire don't mix," Ryan explains.

"Hello? I heard there was a party goin' on."

"Wanda!" Sandy exclaims as he rushes over to his bartender friend and wraps her in a big hug. "You made it just in time for cake!"

"Did someone say cake?" Jack asks, peeking his head inside the room.

Everyone turns and looks at the door as Jack and Kathryn edge their way into the room, in search of an open spot.

"I need to at least hug the birthday boy," Wanda says, making her way over to Ryan. "Happy birthday, sweetie..."

Ryan smiles as Wanda hugs him. He had been thinking about her earlier; wondering how she was doing.

"Wanda, I'm so sor..."

"Stop," Wanda interrupts, placing her hand up to stop the boy from apologizing. "Everything's fine. The insurance company is coverin' all the damages and only a few buffoons needed stitches."

"Really? It's alright? You're okay... everyone's okay?"

"Yes, everything's alright," Wanda reassures. "Plus, I've been wantin' to replace those old bar stools for ages. Got some nice new tables and chairs, too."

Wanda smiles and winks at the boy to try to coax a smile from him.

 _That special smile that lights up the room..._

"I hope I'm not interrupting..."

"Sam!" Sandy walks over to greet his colleague, ushering him into the crowded room. "What brings you out here?"

"This arrived for you at the office this morning," Sam says, handing Sandy an important-looking envelope. "I knew you weren't going to be into work this week so I wanted to get this to you as soon as possible."

Sam hands Sandy the envelope then makes his way over to Ryan. "Hi, I'm Sam. It's a pleasure to finally meet you," Sam says, shaking Ryan's hand gently when he sees it's covered in gauze. "I work with Sandy."

"I know. He's told me a lot about you," Ryan says, happy to finally meet Sandy's colleague; the Investigator who can find out anything about anyone at anytime.

Sandy holds the envelope in his hands and stares at it. He feels his stomach fill with butterflies as he contemplates what's inside.

"Sandy, what is it?" Kirsten asks with concern. "Is everything alright?"

"We'll soon find out," Sandy says, carefully opening the envelope.

Silence fills the room as everyone holds their breath. A huge smile emerges upon Sandy's face as he pulls the document from the envelope.

"Sandy?" Kirsten asks again.

"Come on, Dad... what is it?" Seth asks. "Inquiring minds want to know..."

"It's final," Sandy says as he holds the document up, signed and sealed, for all to see. "The adoption. It finally went through. It's official!"

Everyone in the room cheers as Sandy beams with joy. He looks at the document again and runs his finger over the official seal; the lawyer in him checking to make sure every "i" is dotted and every "t" is crossed.

Sandy clears his throat and takes in a deep breath as he prepares to read the certificate out loud.

"This is to certify that Ryan Francis Atwood has been adopted into the Cohen Family by Father, Sandford and Mother, Kirsten and is entitled to all the Rights and Privileges there to as one of their kids..."

Sandy stops reading as he begins to choke up. He quickly wipes away his tears but the smile on his face remains. He's not sure if he'll ever be able to stop smiling.

"Congratulations Sandy and Kirsten!" both Faith and Hope cry out.

"And, you too, Seth!" Anne adds, feeling overwhelmed with joy for the family.

"Let's have some cake!" Jack announces, happy the room is abuzz so no one can hear his stomach growling.

"Ooh, yes cake. But first you have to make a wish, Ryan," Seth instructs.

Ryan sits up in bed and feels all eyes looking at him. He stares at the cake, chocolate with chocolate frosting. His favorite.

 _How did they know?_

"Come on, Ryan... make a wish!" Seth pleads again.

"Now, Seth, aren't you a little old to believe in birthday wishes coming true?" Kirsten says, wanting Seth to stop pressuring Ryan.

"But they do come true, Mom," Seth says. "Last year at my birthday, I wished I had a brother. And voila!" Seth points both of his hands towards Ryan as if he's just performed a magic trick.

"Well, in that case, I stand corrected," Kirsten says, smiling at her overly enthusiastic son.

Ryan looks around the room. All the people here with him... for him... because of him. He looks at the detectives who never gave up trying to find him whenever he went missing.

 _Kathryn Strauss and Jack O'Brien... I punched that man in the face and yet... he's here._

He glances over at Wanda Everly, his friend. A woman who never asked questions but was always there to help when he needed someplace safe to stay.

 _You were my rock..._

His psychologist, Dr. Gabriel Evans. A man he's grown to trust with all his most personal thoughts and feelings.

 _I know I can tell you anything and it stays between us..._

The nurses who cared for him around the clock, never complaining; always so kind and compassionate.

 _You never lost faith in me. You always showed me there was hope..._

Charity Anne Morrison, the doctor who not only saved his life but risked her own life...

 _For me..._

Ryan looks at Seth, his friend; his brother.

 _I know we'll have each other's back..._

He smiles over at Kirsten. Even after everything that has happened...

 _You still want to be my mom._

Lastly, Ryan looks at Sandy. A man who took a chance, opened his heart and home and never gave up on him...

 _And, you kept your word. You didn't leave me..._

"Go ahead, Ryan," Kirsten coaxes. "Make a wish."

"But, I don't have anything to wish for," Ryan says quietly. "I have everything I could possibly want."

"There's gotta be something you want," Seth chimes in. "Maybe a million dollars or a cool sports car?"

Ryan closes his eyes. He tries to think of something, but can't.

 _I have a loving family now..._

Suddenly, a thought pops into Ryan's head and he proceeds to make a wish.

 _I wish that Seth and Summer will someday fall in love, get married and live happily ever after._

Ryan opens his eyes and takes the small tealight off the cake. He turns the candle off and places it on the side table.

"Kirsten, could you do the honors and cut the cake for everyone?" Ryan asks, showing his bandaged right hand. "I'm lousy using my left hand."

"It would be my pleasure," Kirsten replies as she takes the plastic knife and proceeds to cut squares of chocolate cake and place them on paper plates. "If there's one thing I'm good at, it's serving food."

"So, what did you wish for?" Seth asks, curious to find out. "You can tell me. We're brothers now. Brothers don't keep secrets from each other."

"Seth, if I told you what I wished for, it won't come true," Ryan explains.

"Oh, come on Ryan... please tell me... pretty please?"

Ryan looks at Seth and sees his brother's eyes wide with anticipation and hope.

"All right, you really want me to tell you?" Ryan asks, double-checking to make sure Seth knows what's at stake.

"Yes, I'm sure... absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent sure."

"Very well, I wished that you would stop talking for two minutes," Ryan replies, deciding to make an exception to his "never tell a lie" rule just this one time. Besides, it's not as if he's never wished Seth would stop talking.

Seth stands dumbfounded as everyone in the room stops eating and conversing to see if the teenager will rise to the challenge.

Seth begins to fidget nervously as the silence begins to overwhelm him. He starts tapping his foot as he struggles to hold his lips together and keep his mouth shut. He knows that two minutes should surely be up by now. It seems like an eternity has passed. Seth glances over at the clock and frowns when he sees only twenty seconds have elapsed.

"Sorry, no can do," Seth blurts out, finally breaking the silence. "You know that since you told me what you wished for, it wasn't going to come true."

Ryan smiles and nods his head, "Uh huh..."

Everyone laughs and goes back to enjoying their cake and conversation. Sandy stands off to the side and takes it all in; the smile on his face still as bright as ever.

"That's one heck of a beautiful family you've got there, Sandy," Sam says while enjoying a bite of his cake.

"I've been truly blessed, Sam," Sandy says, watching Ryan sit in bed enjoying his birthday celebration. He notices the boy blush as the women continually come up to him, offering their birthday hugs.

 _I'm the luckiest man in the world..._

Sandy walks over to Ryan's bedside and waits a few moments for everyone to finish their hugs. He then leans down, places his arm around Ryan's shoulders and whispers in the boy's ear...

"Happy Birthday, son."

 _ **-The End-**_

 **I want to sincerely thank everyone for reading my story and also those who have taken time out from their busy schedules to write reviews. The support I've received has been amazing and I've truly appreciated it. :-)**


End file.
